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Feeling Through the Heart and Feet

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As you push open the tasseled door, you can tell that something's off. You can't tell exactly what, but there's something. Nothing is new in the small lobbyish area, and nothing is suggesting danger. You shrug it off and greet the hostess with a nod and familiar smile. She returns both and grabs a menu for you. Even though you both know you don't need it, others trolls don't like obvious favorites.

"Hello, Mr. Captor. How are you?”

"Not bad. I hope you have some exceptionally good entertainment tonight, though.”
She laughs lightly and starts leading you to your reserved table, placed right in front of the raised stage.

"You know we always have good entertainment; that's why you come back, right?”

You smirk and plop down in the padded chair, saying, "That, along with the equally good prices and alcohol. Oh, you know my usual, AA." You casually wave off the menu she offers and smile at her retreating back.

Your moirail liked to stay professional in the workplace, but still treated you with familiarity, which you are happy to receive. You shake your head and look up at the stage over your bi-colored glasses, wondering what they have tonight. You never look at the schedule, always wanting to be surprised. Receiving no answers from the empty platform, you peer around the room.

It's an extremely elegant club, albeit a bit small. The low lighting and small candles on the booths along the walls and tables in the middle of the place really set an interesting mood. Somewhat like a brothel. Not exactly a flattering comparison, but the best. It’s not the most posh, and you think that’s by design. Don’t want all the drama that comes with highbloods in the city, so it’s small and cheap to attract the right class. Namely, you.

You'd been coming here for perigees, since you'd come of drinking age, about two sweeps ago. You'd left almost completely hammered your first visit, so you don't remember much, but liked it enough to come back. It’s pretty quiet, despite being fairly popular. The slightly homey atmosphere and alcohol let you get out of your ever-buzzing head and just relax. You don’t have to think about your coding job (and not matter how much you enjoy it, it’s still a job), and can tune out the doomed voices in your head, caused by your oh-so-wonderful psionics and causing debilitating migraines.

Then you found out about the performing, and it made the place even better. Apparently, they had something like an open-mike night, only the stage was big enough for dancing and other acts, too. Of course, performers had to have a certain standard of talent with what they did, but the owners liked to give the rare newbie a chance. Altogether, it made it even easier to displace yourself and melt into the comforting aroma of scotch, fake leather, and vanilla air fresheners.

Speaking of which, the sea of faces around you seems interested, watching the stage vehemently. You hear whisperings of a new performer going first, a dancer surprisingly. This place got mostly singers and while dancing was an option, it wasn't commonly utilized. You yourself have never been the artsy type, but you can still appreciate what you don't care about.

AA comes back with your drink, an intricate Bee Sting topped with cherries. You like it mainly because of the honey, but the spicy kick of various pepper powders is forever intriguing, too.

Leaning back, you take the first sip while the stage lights go up, and almost choke on it when the performer comes out, because…

Holy. Shit.