Jet
Uncultured
"You're handling it well for your first time. I've seen far worse." He smiled like there was a funny thing he wanted to say, but in truth, her impression of the club amused him. It was much more than a cheap brothel of old creeps, rather a place where everyone was welcomed no matter who they were, where stigmas of color and preference were torn down like tower walls, where differences were embraced unlike in the cold, vicious world above them.
"But I can assure you, there's much to enjoy beyond the physical." He glanced at Nihaal before turning from the pair, walking towards a doorway across the room. "I recall a handsome singer who looked quite like you, a phenomenal dancer with a penchant for breaking hearts. I saw him once years ago, like a flash of light through the clouds."
"I hoped for a dance with him but alas, fate intervened and stopped me from asking." He slowly smiled at the man. It seemed they were both playing the game now. "His name is on the tip of my tongue — but I'm afraid that's hardly enough for me."
He opened the door and went down a long hallway, lined with paintings and marble statues, mosaics made from tiles and glass. It was a kaleidoscopic procession of priceless art. "Ah! The name's come to me at last."
"Nyaal was it?" He raised his brow like the name actually evaded him, when in truth he'd known all along. "Would you happen to know him? You've such a striking resemblance, unless—
"You're the man himself?" He opened a second door and entered a room filled with cafe tables. The walls were lined with bookshelves and a fireplace flickered in the corner. There were love seats and couches and chess boards on tables, and a few people, older men for the most part, talked quietly over whiskey and cigars.
![Lost Echo](/data/avatars/s/37/37887.jpg?1671636967)
![Anne Boolean](/data/avatars/s/26/26917.jpg?1701284370)
Last edited: