10-20-2020, 01:49 AM
Adrian was dropped off at the front entrance to Manifesto in a luxurious town car. He never drove himself when he could help it; his license lapsed years ago. If per chance some strange emergency required him to drive, a court payoff was far easier than the hassle of renewals.
He buttoned his jacket and smirked at the line of people waiting to enter the club. His jacket and waistcoat were classically tailored across his shoulders, a deep blue with a charcoal shirt worn open at the neck. Even as he climbed the steps a woman in a brilliant green dress wearing dangerously high heels was turned away. Amidst her disappointment, she watched with open awe as the door was held open for Adrian. He did not look back.
He was a regular in Block 1, having sealed many a deal in the posh scene. He was less known in the club proper, where strobing lights and the glistening press of skin made him feel like he was buried alive. The decadence of Block 1 was like settling in the feather boa of a tempting mistress. Block 2 was the venue for celebrations, should the deal warrant a proper sealing. Perhaps he would find himself entrenched in its charms by the end of the night.
His table was ready, a reserved nook capable of holding conversation without seclusion from the wider scene, but he took a turn about the room first. Familiar faces filled some corners. The newness of fresh bait prowled the rest.
He buttoned his jacket and smirked at the line of people waiting to enter the club. His jacket and waistcoat were classically tailored across his shoulders, a deep blue with a charcoal shirt worn open at the neck. Even as he climbed the steps a woman in a brilliant green dress wearing dangerously high heels was turned away. Amidst her disappointment, she watched with open awe as the door was held open for Adrian. He did not look back.
He was a regular in Block 1, having sealed many a deal in the posh scene. He was less known in the club proper, where strobing lights and the glistening press of skin made him feel like he was buried alive. The decadence of Block 1 was like settling in the feather boa of a tempting mistress. Block 2 was the venue for celebrations, should the deal warrant a proper sealing. Perhaps he would find himself entrenched in its charms by the end of the night.
His table was ready, a reserved nook capable of holding conversation without seclusion from the wider scene, but he took a turn about the room first. Familiar faces filled some corners. The newness of fresh bait prowled the rest.