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Owner Pose
Claude It's early in the day which means that the club is pretty quiet. The joint is not completely dead, though, as sone of the vault dwellers that work there need to prepare for the evening's entertainment. There's a strangely subdued atmosphere thanks to the attack that occurred last night and the night club's employees tend to be going through the motions of getting ready mechanically. Occasionally someone has tears in their eyes or has to rush off suddenly. Everyone seems tired from dealing with the battle and it's aftermath.

Somehow Claude is mobile enough to make his way to the club, hobbling forward with the aid of a pair of crutches. When he appears in the club's entryway he pauses to look everything and everyone over. His expression shows sadness, though it's tempered with the fact that his eyes are slightly unfocused as though he might be intoxicated.
Joseph Joe's making his rounds about the bar -- this early in the morning, he's got nothing else to do but help mop up after last night, wipe the surfaces and hope things are okay to be properly back in business. But then there's Claude, and the lone bartender curses softly under his breath and leaves the janitor to do the rest while he tends to the counter.

"Uh, what can I get for ya, pal?" Despite Joseph's ever-happy-go-lucky nature he does cock an eyebrow just a bit at Claude's tiredness.
Claude "Just coming in to get ready for my set tonight, partner," says Claude as he crutches slowly towards the bar. "I could really use a whiskey..." The singer blinks a few times, "But I'm not supposed to drink anything. Doc's got me pumped full of pain meds." Resting uneasily on his crutches he lets out a deep sigh, "Are you okay?" On closer examination it's not hard to tell that Claude is definitely high as a kite and moving very stiffly despite that.
Joseph "Doctor's orders, eh? And in the mornin', no less," Joseph notes coyly with a wink that flashes and dissapates after a second as he laughs -- "An' you really checked the whole club to see if l'il old me was alright? Cute, but I dunno if I believe it," he grins.
Claude "It's still the morning?" Claude asks, sounding a little confused. He steadies himself on his crutches and looks down to check his Pipboy, eyes widening in surprise when he sees the time. "I'm really early. I thought the infirmary people would have kept me longer." His eyes settle on Joseph once more and he manages a soft chuckle, barely wincing in pain as his chest shakes, "You are my favorite bartender. Who else is going to pour my glass as full?"
Joseph "'Swhat they say," Joseph shrugs and there's a few squeaking noises as he cleans the bottom of a glass 'til it's squeaky clean. "Still, suppose we can't really trust 'em. More so after last night, but I'm tellin' ya, I'm still feeling as tired as heck!" He winks again and pours Claude a glass as requested. "Well. I was made a bartender a reason, but it's my wisdom that a shot or two of whiskey can be good to clear your head. I'll keep your secret as long as you don't tell no-one you have a favorite."
Claude "I'm still not sure who those people were. I heard something about El Dorado, but I'm not sure if I remember everything clearly," Claude explains, speaking rather slowly. Looking at the whiskey in front of him for a few seconds, Claude rests his crutches against the bar and pushes himself slowly into a stool. "Thanks." Once he's settled into his seat, and it takes him a little effort to get there, he picks up his glass, "My dad died. I haven't talked to him since I got my G.O.A.T. results, but it still stings."
Joseph "Aw, I'm sorry bud," and leans over the counter to console Claude. "Guess I'm one of the lucky few that didn't get punched up, eh," Joe shrugs. "Those folks sound like crazies. Ain't El Dorado one of those Spanish tales? Or not, never was that good at history. Or geography, guess."
Claude "It's okay. He disowned me when I didn't go into maintenance," Claude tries to shrug dismissively but based on the way he moves he's hurting pretty badly. "The infirmary was full when I woke up this morning. The invaders did a number on us." He sips his whiskey. "Your guess is as good as mine. I kind of always knew I'd end up singing for a living."
Joseph Joe snorts enough to be polite. "An' that's good enough to disown you, now? Well, most us long-time janitor-an'-service folk think it'd be the dream to get to be a handsome singer with a show ev'ry night. Guess he was just jealous," he shrugs. "But, ah, sorry 'bout your pop. An' all those other folk. Hope they hold up okay."
Claude "He said I was too good for the family business," Claude says softly. "Kind of been on my own ever since, but it's okay. I make a living and I've got plenty of friends." His glass comes back to his lips for another sip. "I figure I can't do too much for folks, but I can still play the piano and sing, so if anyone shows up tonight I'll be here to put on a show."
Joseph "That's good. Long as you got some family, don't matter what blood think," Joe muses a bit sagely. "Mind giving us a practice run then? Like to see you're okay," and another merry wink from the bartender.
Claude "Yep! Some day I'm going to have a real family of my own, too. Just need to find someone to settle down with," Claude says with a grin. "Practice run? Sure, I'll play," the entertainer grabs his glass and drains it in a gulp before pushing himself away from the bar and beginning to slide down from his seat. Picking up his crutches again he makes his way towards the stage. When he gets to the stairs he has a little difficulty managing them on crutches, but he futzes around enough that he figures it out. Once he's up there he sits down on the stool in front of the piano and sets his crutches down on the floor, then cracks his knuckles.
Joseph Maybe going just a bit too far, Joe raises his brow cheekily. "Got any ideas on who, bud," he suggests with them being alone, but lets it be at that for now. Joe's content at wiping down the bar again, drumming his foot to the beat of the rhythm and cheering the other man on as he plays.
Claude "Nope, not yet, but I'm sure the right lady will come along," Claude says before he runs a forefinger over the keys, enjoying the sound it makes. After that he starts playing in earnest, going right into playing 'Memories Are Made of This', "The sweet sweet memories you gave-a me!" He plays alright, singing surprisingly with only the slightest hint of a slur. Though stiff when he moves his body, he manages to tickle the ivories with a decent amount of skill.
Joseph Joe seems to roll his eyes just a bit before flashing another bright, toothy smile at the singer. "Yeah, super great. But y'know," he considers. "I wouldn't say you have to perform tonight. Let yourself recover, right? Besides, not like we're gonna get many customers if things stay like this, huh."
Claude Claude stops playing gradually, letting the tune fade out, "I might not have to play, but I want to be on hand in case anybody needs to talk about what happened." He picks up his crutches, wincing when he bends over to get them and shaking his head. "Plus, I still got to find a wife." He cracks a smile at that remark and moves to get to his feet, leaning heavily on the crutches. "Maybe I'll just find a comfortable chair here and let the wait staff bring me Nuka Cola."
Joseph "Tell me 'bout it," Joe deadpans a bit before he nods. "A'ight, seems like a good idea. 'Cept drinks are supposed to get more customers havin' em than staff, y'know," he grins. "Still, good idea. Could go out to sing to all those dames holed up in the infirmary, too."
Claude "I can try being a customer for once," the singer says as he moves towards a nearby table so that he can take a seat, setting his crutches so they rest against an empty chair. "I might swing back by the infirmary, but I've spent enough time there getting stitched up and sleeping it off that I don't really want to see it again until it's time to get my bandages changed tomorrow morning." Once he's seated he leans back in his chair and relaxes.
Joseph "Glad to hear it," Joseph grins as he wipes down. "In other news, gotta get to plunging in the bathroom. Don't have enough janitors to clean up the most recent mess," he grumbles. "See you round?"
Claude "Yeah, pal," Claude tells the bartender, giving him a wave from his spot at the table. The singer starts to look a little rougher, like he's having trouble keeping his eyes open. It almost looks like he might be about to take a nap right then and there. "You take care."