003 | OPEN. red lipstick on the end of a cigarette.

[norea]

Who: Hasibe Ozcelik, and OPEN.
What: A show premieres at The Vault.
Where: The Vault.
When: Evening til the wee hours of the morning.
Notes: I will set up sections in the comments for people to hang out.
Warnings: WELL IT'S AN ADULT CLUB, SO.

The show starts at nine o'clock, and the bar is full pretty quickly thereafter, but the variety in the club is pretty striking. Xenians in their best suits, non-Xenians in leather and ripped fishnets, everything in between. There doesn't seem to be a lot of cultural divide here between human and not, even given recent issues. Hasibe makes good on her promise to have members of her cohort given seating preference, as she's sweet-talked the cocktail dress-clad hostesses, and the bartenders (in their vague approximations of suits with very open shirts) are aware that she's invited a lot of heavy drinkers. ...she just assumes people in her cohort want to drink--they've been kidnapped to a strange city with many new things to offer, so why wouldn't they?

Comments

OUTSIDE

[norea]

Go inside, you weirdos, you can actually smoke in there.

[toooldforlosing]

Raylan has been inside, and will be again; he promised to see Hasibe's show, and he will. It's just a lot more socializing than he's used to, and he needs a moment.

He wishes, idly, that he did smoke. It'd give him something to do besides stand there and look out of place while he's clearing his head.

MAIN STAGE

[norea]

The initial show here is a series of women, some obviously Xenian, some not, performing a burlesque routine. Hasibe performs at ten-thirty, in her little glittering white outfit, dancing with serpentine fire whips that occasionally wrap around her, somehow never burning her clothing, skin, or hair. At around eleven, a new group (this time of mixed gender) appears to play rhythmic, slightly electronic-sounding music.

[rhinemaid]

After coaxing and cajoling Ivan into a priest's collar, Ilde had blithely ignored all of his requests to do with her wardrobe for the evening since most of them involved pleated skirts; the dress she wears instead is black satin, dropped waist, and means when she ends up sitting in his lap for substantial parts of Hasi's performance she's obliged to take pains not to go sliding off. (One handed, because she thinks if she accidentally puts her cigarette out on Ivan's leg he's probably not going to be thrilled no matter what the rest of the evening involves.)

By the time the performances start winding down into music, she's resolved to investigate the rest of the place a bit more thoroughly-- and go catch up with Hasi, too.

[gifted-hands.livejournal.com]

Unless specifically told of a dress code, Tadhg tends to dress by whim for social occasions. Tonight he wound up in black jeans and a brocade vest (http://i3.photobucket.com/albums/y61/karihan/RP%20Whossits/20z-ornate-brocade-vest.jpg), sans shirt. His torcs gleam on his neck and left wrist, and he added a cuff-to-stud earring (http://i3.photobucket.com/albums/y61/karihan/RP%20Whossits/45724099.jpg) on his right ear. One of his usually-hidden tattoos is showing: a wide band around his right bicep made up of running, leaping and rearing horses.

Not spotting anyone he knows right off, he gravitates to the main stage first. His expression as he watches the dancers tends more toward thoughtful than titillated, though he applauds each performer enthusiastically. When Hasi takes the stage, his gaze grows downright intent, and one eyebrow arches.

OTHER STAGES, OF WHICH THERE ARE FOUR

[norea]

...are considerably more explicit. Use your imagination. At least one definitively is for suspension.

[captaincocksure]

Of course Jim is at the suspension stage. He's in the front row, clad in dark jeans and a crisp white dress shirt, the top two buttons undone, the sleeves rolled up to mid-forearm, his hair artfully tousled. He leans forward in his seat, forearms resting on his knees, so he can look up at the girl suspended above him.

The expression on his face, as he takes this in, is a clear mix of oh my god, what the hell and ...that looks like fun.

It's probably a good thing he doesn't have McCoy in tow.

[onlyacabaret.livejournal.com]

While most people seem to be enjoying the entertainment, Sally is watching from the back, her chin almost demurely resting on the backs of her fingers, her legs crossed at the ankle. If she's perturbed by the displays on the various stages, she doesn't show it. She could be listening to an opera or a chemistry lecture, for all the shock registering on her face.

She's taking mental notes - though at one point, real interest shows in her expression; she tilts her head to the side and hums with surprise. How was that accomplished?

PRIVATE ROOMS

[norea]

Smallish, plush, velvet cubicles with rounded backs and wrap-along comfortable sofas, big enough to fit six or seven people at once. Music is piped in.

Re: PRIVATE ROOMS

[gotbottle]

Glass of red wine dangling from her fingers--her third, not that it shows beyond a very slight lack of focus to her gaze as it sweeps the area outside the private rooms--Rachel wanders along the hall. Some of the rooms are already packed with boisterous groups, not quite what she wants at the moment.

She's in black jeans and a black corset-style top, hair left down and loose. She's restless, running on little sleep these days, and she's not quite ready to dive back into the noise and activity and crowds in the rest of the club, not yet. A little quiet conversation or contemplation, a chance to sit and recharge a little, and maybe she'll make another go of it.

She ducks into one of the rooms, dodging a knot of people headed for the one just opposite.

[truth_is_cold]

After thoroughly enjoying the stage shows and giving his fair share worth of applause, Rhade decides to have a look around. Only instead of the other stages (they might be next) he roams into the private area, glancing curiously into rooms.

He's picked up some changes of clothes too, but this evening he's resorted to a pair of tight, black leather pants, a dress shirt with the first few buttons undone, and a dark red blazer that he's had tailored for his boneblades to protrude comfortably from, and he can button around them.

It probably won't take him long to get back to the other stages, but he has to have a look at everything like an overly curious cat.

[manipulativni.livejournal.com]

Katherine's checked out all the stages at this point, and while those employed by the place are very talented and put on a fantastic show, she's found herself wanting a bit of peace and quiet. She's poured herself into a dark purple dress (http://www.uk-karenmillen.com/images/Karen%20Millen%20Folded%20Cocktail%20Dresses%20Purple_1.JPG) that hugs her petite frame, and her hair is in a loose knot at the nape of her neck, a few stray curls framing her face. She wanders the halls aimlessly, a tumbler of scotch in hand, and when she comes to the private rooms she's intrigued enough to slip in the doorway of one of them to take a closer look.

THE BAR

[norea]

Crowded, but fortunately also enormous. Blood is sold here, but it's bagged and in glasses.

[mirrorswillfall.livejournal.com]

It took a damned long while for Penelope to make her way to the bar, and it was taking even longer for her to be served-- being short in the club is not the best way to get your drinks. Often it is better to find someone willing to buy said drinks for you.

This is precisely the reason she turned up without any pants on (http://www.polyvore.com/penelope_drunk_girls_in_cluuuub/set?id=39643164). Shut up, she designed all the costumes, this is as much her exhibition as it is the dancers'. Well, maybe not as much, she's not shaking her ass for the viewing public. Not on the stage, anyway. Any ass-shaking is purely accidental and a consequence of aforementioned lack of pants.

Elbowing her way through the crowd as best she can, she spies a free stool and hops her petite ass directly onto it as fast as she can, hoping she didn't tread on anyone's feet along the way. Not that she cares, really, but it'd be nice not to start shit with anybody until at least last call.

"Goddamn!" Penelope leans forward, her elbows folded onto the bar. "Can a bitch get a red sangria up in here?" A more timeless, soul-searching question has never been asked. By Penelope.

[aldabeyoun.livejournal.com]

While not usually her scene, Njoki felt that Ivan was right when mentioned that seeing Hasibe's show at the Vault might be a good night out among their cohort. To show her appreciation for his advice, she gave him a Tijuana Bible to round out his priest's costume.

Standing at the bar, with a drink in hand, and wearing a t-shirt with sleeves short enough to properly show off her scarification, Njoki looks comfortable watching the varied crowd go about their business.

[neverbreaks.livejournal.com]

Well, well. Isn't this a treat?

Jules is here because she said she would be, because Hasi is something of a friend, or at the very least, an acquaintance. She'd rather not fail to follow through. For all that, though, she's partly here because she saved visiting this particular bar until this night; it was strategy. That's why she's got an empty glass next to her, and being passed to her right this moment. She says "thank you," but it's quiet, barely audible over the sound of her sliding the glass over the counter towards herself.

Considering she's here for a friend-slash-acquaintance, she's being rather horribly un-social. Having the energy to bounce around and chatter is a bit challenging, at present, especially with whiskey-type something-or-other filtering into your bloodstream.

[martyrdomoption.livejournal.com]

At some point during the evening, Mitchell will no doubt be at the bar drinking Jack Daniels and Coke because, even if he were inclinced to drink blood tonight (and he has been thoroughly tempted during his time in Baedal) it's bagged and unsuitable for his needs.

It's a subject upon which his ears should be burning.

For now, some pretty young woman sitting alone at a table is eyeing him and he's returning her glances every so often. The difference being that the quiet hunger about his gaze is something completely different to what she's thinking about. Probably, anyway. It's difficult to say in a place like this.

Not that he would, anyway. This place is too public, he'd be recognised as the last person seen with her, it's the workplace of a friend, etc, and then the moral reasons. All these factors drift across his mind as he stands there toying with the idea regardless.

[neverrundry.livejournal.com]

It's here where Antonin can be found; he took some time to make a circuit of the Vault, dropping in on the various stages to see the performances with a vaguely amused expression. There was nothing, however, that caught his eye, and so he decided to make good use of his time with a drink or two before having another go.

He's still sober at the moment, cheerful and looking far cleaner than he did when he first arrived in Baedal. His clothes are borrowed (though by borrowed, of course, it's implied that there was consent involved, when really he helped himself to the unguarded wardrobes of the male residents of the Malfoy Townhouse.)

Instead of shouting to the bartender for a refill, he waits for eye-contact, then holds up his empty glass with a profoundly self-deprecating smile. For an alcoholic Death Eater, he's almost genteel.

[mightyfallen]

For Jack, there's always been something paradoxical about coming to clubs like this. At home it was an escape, a chance to lose himself in a sea of earthly pleasures, yet for all the desires that could be catered to in such an environment, he specifically denied himself the ones he wanted most. Because, despite the necessity for discretion when a prince went to a sex club, his escapades were about being seen as much as seeing. They were about creating a scandal, because the scandal you create is the scandal you control.

It's strange, then, not to be putting on such a performance tonight. To have a table alone, to watch the show from the fringes instead of the front row, to direct his energies toward no particular goal higher than not leaving an impression. He isn't as good at the latter-most as he'd like, but he's trying, because what he's here for tonight isn't for anyone else's consumption. It's personal.

At least, he thinks it is. For weeks, he's been dreaming – brief flashes, fragments, moments between worlds and the life stories of people he'd never met, but who felt somehow familiar, like walking through the rooms of a home you'd only lived in when you were too young to remember. When he saw Hasi's invitation on the network, something clicked.

And so he's here, dressed nicely but not flashily, lurking around the edges of the bar after her performance. He isn't exactly seeking her out, not actively, because if he's wrong (or worse, if he's just crazy) he'd rather not expose himself; if she recognizes him, that's different. But he's scanning the room for her, maybe trying to catch her eye if he sees her, and attempting not to get his hopes up.

(He's not sure how you can miss someone you're not even sure you know, but it feels like that, anyway.)

VIP AREA

[norea]

Suspended in what appears to be a giant, shimmering chandelier above the stage for an interesting view. It has its own bar.

/goes for it

[caballero]

The Vault, it seems, is not immune to the age-old con of Just look like you know what you're doing, because Bruce is in no way one of Baedal's high rollers - but between exploiting his ability to manipulate body language and being kind to a few drink-carriers, he's managed to slip unbothered into the VIP lounge.

Though he didn't sit with the rest of the cohort during the show, and has largely kept to himself all night, deliberately avoiding familiar faces and keeping to the edges of crowds, Bruce isn't going to leave without saying hello to Hasibe. And this is where he happens to spot her when she's not already engaged with a half dozen other people. He appears at her side like he belongs there, leaning over to the bar to set down the empty glass he'd been carrying - soda, shut up - his other hand coming up to briefly touch the small of her back in a quick non-verbal hello.

Of course he showed up.

BATHROOMS

[norea]

These probably occasionally have people doing drugs in them.

[thenormalsquint]

And one of those people is Angela, chatting up a complete stranger while sharing a joint of some sort between them. Only God knows what's in it because it doesn't quite smell like marijuana, but then again, as long as it doesn't smell like crack, it's all good to her.

She'll only live once. Might as well try a bit of everything while she can.

DRESSING ROOMS

[norea]

Hasibe has her own, but there's a larger one, too. She'll be in it before her performance, after while she gets a bit cleaned up, and when she gets dressed to leave at the end of the night.

[martyrdomoption.livejournal.com]

Vampires and invitations are pretty much a standard thing by now, so it's no surprise that Mitchell makes his way to Hasibe's dressing room a little while after her performance (she did say after all, and his name was conveniently put down on the security list).

There's a quick knock and then he waits with a perfunctory calm, friendly smile.

RED ROOM

[norea]

Where terrible things happen. You have to sign a legal form promising you understand the risks to get in here.

MISC

[norea]

"Whatever you want" is, after all, the club's motto.

tag him wherever

[deservesadaisy]

Ivan promised to be here, and here he is, complete with priest's collar (though no cassock - just black trousers and shirt). If that weren't enough, he and Ilde are usually attached, certainly when they're watching Hasibe's performance.

Those who want to catch him alone, however, can; he'll occasionally be sent off to fetch drinks, or Ilde will drift away to say hello to someone.