Drugs. Rock and Roll.
Bad.
Ass.
Vegas.
Hos.
While Leo blinks to let his eyes adjust to the flashing lights scything through darkness, there's little can do to adjust to the smell. The cloying, sickly-sweet stench of body spray and sweat, mixed with alcohol, smoke, and primal urge. Music throbs to a steady rhythm, completing the trifecta assault on his senses.
Dress it up as much as you want. A skin show is still a skin show. And often, more.
Between Nox and Club Ember, Zilker had sketched a picture. Leo knew who he was looking for. The former Epopt had dropped the Mage and the Fairest off, opting to park the car and take up sentry duty outside.
Eyes adjust. Through the lights, they begin to see. Skin. Skin stretching and gyrating. Bouncing. Shaking. Small bits of material twirl. Green paper slides against flesh.
"I said, do you want a drink?"
Beside him, Neil is bouncing slightly in time with the music, yelling over it. He's doing that silent laugh again.