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18 Members ~ 65 Characters
12 Vampires, 8 Fae, 8 Wolves, 5 Lions, 3 Leopards, 3 Foxes, 2 Jaguars, 1 Hyenas, 2 Cobras, 2 Tigers, 4 Rats, 1 Swan, 5 Cougars, 5 Humans, 0 Human Servants, 4 Other |
| Viewing Single Post From: Army of Me | |
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| Garret Renfrew | Mar 28 2009, 11:49 AM |
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The Hyena stood outside on the other side of the street. The cobbles beneath his feet gleamed in the neon glow of the Den's shameless welcoming, his face a glow like some eerie spectre come to pay homage to such a zigurat. Yet, he did nothing of the sort, he did not pay homage. He had questioned those distant cousins of his once inside this magnificent city and they all pointed him here. This place was where he could find his kin, his own kind. A strip club. Not even one that was discreet in who it catered for. He was a bigot in this sense. He did not see the noble Moon Dog's selling themselves as respectful. He wanted to prove they were the strongest, not a bunch of money seeking whores who shook their tails at anything. He would not stand for it. Time to preach and persuade. He flicked his cigarette, the tide of smoke wafting into the air. It sparked and fizzled out, dying a slow, burning death as he approached the double doors to this less than impressive establishment. The male entered with a few words to the door men, a quick check of his Identification was in order before he entered. He was hit with the stench of debauchery and decadence. Part of him reacted to it in a way he did not approve of and he stamped it down deep inside. He flexed his fingers, curling them into fists as he passed several men whooping and drooling over a duo of dancers, male and female performing suggestive moves upon one another. He approached the bar, his dark eyes flashing around for a face of note. The vested tender came up to him and asked his poison. He pulled a face at what was to offer before pointing at a Kronenberg. He accepted the drink and handed over his fee, suprised at the high cost of the alcoholic beverage. He could feel the beast lurking beneath his skin, small dark blotches threatening to errupt around his shoulders and down his back, but luckily his shirt and tatty leather and denim jacket hid that from the public. He stood out from the crowd. Dressed like a street thug yet sporting the face of a male model. He brooded at his corner of the bar. |
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| Army of Me · The Den | |
2:12 PM Nov 28
