Post by Anna Robinson on Feb 28, 2016 19:27:26 GMT
A modern looking building, old neon signs taken down and replaced by hand-painted sigils and words. There was the dull thump of bass as you approach. The doors opened up, blasting the exterior with the heavy and disjointed thrash metal that blared from inside as a man was tumbled onto the street by two large looking men in biker jackets with 'Walkabout' written across their backs. Clearly security - especially when a closer look suggests they were armed and wired.
Inside you could barely move, let past the front door after declaring yourself 'on the list' and providing some ID to make sure, you were directed towards the back of the room, through the throng of goth and punk styled people heaving on the dance floor below the scattered cage dancer suspended above. Carefully making your way through the club, which definitely looked like it was an old strip-club, what with the slender silver poles on stages scattered around, plus leftover signs that had been half painted over or covered that read 'Club Hots', you spot where you're heading - a small area that had been cleared at the far side of the bar.
Arriving at this location, you are greeted by the smiling face of Sae, who had been bopping along to the music during your approach. She knows you, it's her job to know who you are and what you look like. There's a nervous looking woman standing just behind her. Sae waved for you to come through a door, leaving the loud industrial metal behind as the door swung shut, clearly partially soundproofed, "hey good to see you here," the Australian sounding woman said, "just head on up the stairs and take a right, you can't miss the function room, it's the one with the big arse Brujah standin' outside of it, yeah?" she grinned, pointing you up towards the VIP area.
Arriving at the entrance to the function room, you see the 'big arse Brujah' in question. Amelia, the Sherriff, stands before the door, a table full of weapons beside her, each with a little tag tied to it. Behind her stands a beautiful woman, perched upon the table, dressed considerably better than the tac-vest clad Sherriff. This was Julia, the Hound, who never seemed to be far behind Amelia.
"Weapons on the table," the Scots woman said in a rather matter-of-fact tone, "arms out..." she would then proceed to briefly frisk you, putting any weapons she found on the table beside her, giving you a reciept for each item she took. Finally, she would smile slightly, "have a nice night, don't be starting no trouble..."
Moving through the door, you find yourself within a large functionary room, something that could be hired out by the venue for parties and the like - or even for meetings of things that lurk within the night.
Standing at the head of the room, near a small stage perhaps a couple of feet elevated, stood the slender figure of Robin, the Prince of the city, flanked by the Seneschal Celio, and potentially the only person in the room whose beauty could outside the Prince's - yet whilst Celio and the Prince wore rather neat and tidy, perhaps even glamorous clothes, a crisp suit and a stunning evening gown, the woman beside them dressed down, preferring comfort over style. This trio seemed quite content to speak amongst themselves, though it was mostly Celio and Robin talking with this third woman standing beside them, writing notes, though a skilled observer may note that she seemed to be keeping a very careful eye upon the entire room.
(Toreador approaching this trio will need to roll self-control to not be mesmerised by prettiness)
Seated some small distance from this trio was a woman you would well know by now. Izzy Hale, sat with a laptop open and illuminating her face, was busily tapping away at her keyboard.
Further scattered around the room were the likes of the Primogen - Eve was sat at the bar happily chatting away to Gabrielle and River, the rock chick, the model and the harlot-keeper, the Toreador, the Ventrue and the Brujah - who knew what subtel verbal games they were trying on one another. There was the tall figure of Gustav, the Tremere primogen, smoking a cigarette whilst talking at length with Walter, the Malkavian, two doctors of very different fields discussing quietly. Finally there was Adrian, the little girl sat upon the edge of the stage, her legs dangling from the edge, swinging lightly as she watched the assembled crowd.
Inside you could barely move, let past the front door after declaring yourself 'on the list' and providing some ID to make sure, you were directed towards the back of the room, through the throng of goth and punk styled people heaving on the dance floor below the scattered cage dancer suspended above. Carefully making your way through the club, which definitely looked like it was an old strip-club, what with the slender silver poles on stages scattered around, plus leftover signs that had been half painted over or covered that read 'Club Hots', you spot where you're heading - a small area that had been cleared at the far side of the bar.
Arriving at this location, you are greeted by the smiling face of Sae, who had been bopping along to the music during your approach. She knows you, it's her job to know who you are and what you look like. There's a nervous looking woman standing just behind her. Sae waved for you to come through a door, leaving the loud industrial metal behind as the door swung shut, clearly partially soundproofed, "hey good to see you here," the Australian sounding woman said, "just head on up the stairs and take a right, you can't miss the function room, it's the one with the big arse Brujah standin' outside of it, yeah?" she grinned, pointing you up towards the VIP area.
Arriving at the entrance to the function room, you see the 'big arse Brujah' in question. Amelia, the Sherriff, stands before the door, a table full of weapons beside her, each with a little tag tied to it. Behind her stands a beautiful woman, perched upon the table, dressed considerably better than the tac-vest clad Sherriff. This was Julia, the Hound, who never seemed to be far behind Amelia.
"Weapons on the table," the Scots woman said in a rather matter-of-fact tone, "arms out..." she would then proceed to briefly frisk you, putting any weapons she found on the table beside her, giving you a reciept for each item she took. Finally, she would smile slightly, "have a nice night, don't be starting no trouble..."
Moving through the door, you find yourself within a large functionary room, something that could be hired out by the venue for parties and the like - or even for meetings of things that lurk within the night.
Standing at the head of the room, near a small stage perhaps a couple of feet elevated, stood the slender figure of Robin, the Prince of the city, flanked by the Seneschal Celio, and potentially the only person in the room whose beauty could outside the Prince's - yet whilst Celio and the Prince wore rather neat and tidy, perhaps even glamorous clothes, a crisp suit and a stunning evening gown, the woman beside them dressed down, preferring comfort over style. This trio seemed quite content to speak amongst themselves, though it was mostly Celio and Robin talking with this third woman standing beside them, writing notes, though a skilled observer may note that she seemed to be keeping a very careful eye upon the entire room.
(Toreador approaching this trio will need to roll self-control to not be mesmerised by prettiness)
Seated some small distance from this trio was a woman you would well know by now. Izzy Hale, sat with a laptop open and illuminating her face, was busily tapping away at her keyboard.
Further scattered around the room were the likes of the Primogen - Eve was sat at the bar happily chatting away to Gabrielle and River, the rock chick, the model and the harlot-keeper, the Toreador, the Ventrue and the Brujah - who knew what subtel verbal games they were trying on one another. There was the tall figure of Gustav, the Tremere primogen, smoking a cigarette whilst talking at length with Walter, the Malkavian, two doctors of very different fields discussing quietly. Finally there was Adrian, the little girl sat upon the edge of the stage, her legs dangling from the edge, swinging lightly as she watched the assembled crowd.