Beyond the mirrored doors at the entrance of the club, the entire atmosphere alters from the modern angles and shine of steel and glass to a warmer, more decadent glow of Persian riches mingling with Bohemian ideals. Hardwood floors have been painted ebony and polished to a high shine, accented by gilt covered trim, carved in arches and swirls. Walls are papered with a shimmering crimson silk paper with brass sconces and matching chandeliers lending a warm glow to the room. Across the large room a stage is raised and expertly lighted, velvet drapes in a royal navy are drawn when there is no show in progress, or pulled back to show whatever backdrop goes with the current show.
A large area is cleared for dancing before the stage, and surrounding the dance floor are black laquered tables with crimson cushioned chairs to allow patrons to rest for a moment or watch the shows performed on the stage. Cocktail waiters and waitresses are scantily clad in gold and blue ensembles styled to put one in mind of sultans and shieks, harems and desert nights - though the materials are generally so sheer that even the most liberal Persians would question their decency.
On the edges of the stage, the wings lead back to a backstage area for employees as they prepare for the next number. On the other side of the main room and on the far wall, another set of double doors leads back to the courtyard - propped open during operating hours, save for inclement weather.
Another night, another crowd at the Nights. Bodies move in undulating motions on stage, and patrons watch, attention on those skilled women. In the back of it all is Lexine, currently perched upon the bar, legs crossed, absinthe in her right hand. She watches, and observes, like a protective hawk.
The man's entrance gives her something to observe, the doors opening and the man holding either side of it in a gesture that lacks a cloak to swirl over his shoulders. He shoots the bouncers a broad grin, a flash of white teeth in his face, flashing his fangs carelessly before he steps forward to head directly to the bar. He pauses in front of Lexine, sweeping her a deep bow that wouldn't be out of place in Elizabeth the first's court, rolling his eyes up to watch her through his lashes, still wearing that broad grin.
The movement does, indeed, catch Lexine's eyes, and they follow him all the way from the doors until he ends up before her. She sets her glass down, subtly freeing her hands, and settles them into her lap. The smile she wears is all business-woman politeness, and her eyes do not meet his. "Yes?," she asks, simple in words, but deep in the number of possible answers.
Mercutio straightens, shooting her a broad grin, his eyes dancing. "I come seeking the Lady Lexine, as a messenger of the Master of the City, the Puppeteer, the Ring Master, Maximillion himself. I am Mercutio, bearer of good tidings!" His voice flutters around the room, brushing with a touch of power, offering sex and lust and all things tempting, his grin broad in his face. "
"You've found her, then," Lexine replies cooly, as one of her brows lift. "There is a new Master, yet again? How interesting," she says, as if commenting on the weather or that local sport's team she's not really a big fan of as of late. As his power flutters, her own rises, no desire in her to be effected. One can almost hear the *bzzzzt!*DENIED that comes from the woman's fox.
Her reaction brings a look of real interest to Mercutio's face and he straightens, turning in a graceful dancing movement to lean against the bar, to turn his head and watch her, the gesture winsome. "A new Master, and one that seeks to meet with you to come to terms, My Lady. He sends me with the missive, to beg the honour of your company, and having met you, I believe your charms would bowl over a lesser man." His grin widens and he adds, "Indeed I am bowled, I fall at your feet, and worship!" His voice is playing around the room, the man throwing it out, his antics theatrical.
Lexine glances down to her hands, briefly, and then back to Mercutio's left cheek. "I will meet him, of course," she replies easily. "Here, would be my preference. If not here, some other neutral ground, as is fitting." She flashes another smile, looking at least slightly amused at the show. "Please, feel free to fall and worship as you wish, dear."
"I shall declare that this be a place that is meet to meet! And yet, he will wish to offer you and the other beauteous leaders of the city his hospitality. I believe he has a gift fit for a goddess." His grin widens and he straightens, stepping back to twirl, as if he had a cloak to spin around himself, before he falls backwards. He lands on the floor at her feet, with one leg bent, his head resting against his hand. "I fall, and as flies to wanton boys, am I to this goddess of foxes; she kills me for her sport!"
"I do enjoy gifts," Lexine replies slyly, her lips curving a bit more readily now, the gleam in her eyes growing. There is a look of surprise as Mercutio falls upon the floor, and then a peal of laughter from the woman. Warm, and certainly not cruel. "Get up, dear, and tell me your name," she says, offering her hand out towards him. "Let it never be said that I am a cruel huntress, to those that do not deserve it, and make me laugh."
Mercutio rolls, rising to his feet gracefully, and striking a pose to lean against the bar, gazing at her winsomely. "I am Mercutio, Life of My Master's Party, and a willing slave at the feet of a beautiful fox goddess whose eyes strike me to the very core!" He takes her hand, bowing deeply over it, pressing a kiss against it, rolling his eyes up to her. "Lady, I hope we shall drink down all unkindness." His whisper flutters around her ears, his power brushing against her, offering all manner of temptations linked to sex and lust.
Lexine's lips twist, some new amusement there. "Mercutio," she says, the name rolling off of her tongue like something sweet, something intimately known. Her gaze moves over him, slowly, with intent. But anyone with the senses to tell such things knows it is but a show, for the benefit of those looking and watching the happenings. After her hand is kissed, she turns it, fingertips lightly brushing beneath his chin. Briefly.
"Mercutio, his Jester, and his Messenger." Mercutio lowers his voice, his eyes resting on her as he watches her response. Something in it amuses him and he allows the brush of her fingertips, his eyes dancing with pure merriment. "May I tell my master that the Fox Goddess will attend to receive the gift he brings you all?" His grin is broad, his teeth flashing with it.
Lexine settles her hand into her lap once more, folding them there as she continues to watch the vampire. "You may tell him such, and I will accept his invitation when a time and a night can be agreed upon." She smiles, a flash of warmth to it.
Mercutio falls back, lifting his hands to press above his heart, proclaiming his words, his voice fluttering around the room. "I declare my heart skips for joy at your words, my lady, and I look forward to my Master's joy at the news I bring him." His gestures are deliberately theatric and he sweeps her a deep bow, his grin flashing white in his dark face.
There is a small shake of head from Lexine, as his hand goes to his heart. "I do hope that he as pleased as you, my dear Mercutio," she says sweetly, her voice pitched for him, and some of those around them. Not only does it give the audience a show, but if Lexine were to suddenly go missing…
Mercutio's eyes gleam, showing an intelligence that perhaps the fooling hides for the most part. He lifts his voice, declaiming loudly enough to allow those around them to hear him, "I am Mercutio, messenger for Maximilliam, Master of the City, fair Lady, and I thank you for your time, you honour me with your smiles, and my heart beats at your command." His deliberate choice to assert his position comes with a gleam of that grin, a flash before he bows deeply to her.
From where she sits upon the bar, Lexine manages to execute a sitting bow that is all grace and elegant movement, angles perfect. Her gaze is sly, and the vixen peeks out from within the depths of brown, amber-bright. "It has been a pleasure, Mercutio," she says slowly, each word drenched in seductive, low tones. "I do hope that you enjoy your night."
Mercutio shoots her a look in return that is full of laughter, and he murmurs words, his voice for her ear only, as if he whispered it there. "Music oft hath such a charm to make bad good… and I am bad, my lady but the music of your voice may turn a man's head." And then he turns, bounding up the stairs to the door, pausing there to give her a deep bow, drama to the last, milking the moment.
Lexine's own voice stays pitched low, and softer now, so it does not travel very far. "Music is a passion, and I play it well, Mercutio. I often know which strings to pluck and caress." With that, she straightens, and makes a show of blowing the man a kiss as he bows at the door.
Mercutio laughs, the sound fluttering around the room before he spins on his heel, vanishing out of the door with a flourish.