Driving through the Outskirts, Raiden had gone out intending to follow up on Logan’s suggestion to check out the other bars and clubs nearby. If anything, since the other man’s visit, Dryad had taken it personally about how he wanted to put a spin on the Crossroads. By ear, Underworld was supposed to be something. When he’d first heard the name, admittedly, he’d taken a double-take about whether he’d misheard because it was far too reflective of somewhere he knew a lot better. Because of that, Raid was making sure to keep the comparisons separate. God forbid being involved in another Underground.
He pulled up behind the bricked building, it looked like nothing more than a factory buried amongst the night and Raid was a little impressed by its unimposing exterior. However, Dryad felt like he’d placed too much faith in his newfound vampire companion because he didn’t like surrounding himself too much with the supernatural at the best of times - he was in Edgewood because he was distancing from that chaos. So, with the knowledge that the Underworld had a somewhat supernatural persuasion, it unsettled him. But not completely, because you’re curious to see it, aren’t you? The sliver of something dangerous weaved its way from the back of his mind and told him that it was no excuse to lose control - no matter what was to happen inside or who dared provoke him.
The outside worked perfectly to disguise the inner workings of the club; the moment Raiden had slipped his way past the bouncers in the entranceway, he was greeted by thumping dance music and blaring neon lights in all directions. Immediately, he realised, he was not going to be replacing the lowlights of Crossroads for anything else. If he didn’t get into any issues with any people, he’d likely start a war with the lighting. You’ve been to parties much like these when Harken’s dragged you there, you’ll get over it. Frowning, Dryad pushed all those memories away and headed to the bar, the long line of people queuing from each corner told him that he might be waiting a while.
So he made sure to slip into the opening where two youngsters had moved away towards the dancefloor. “Whiskey, neat.” he called, raising his voice over the music vibrating through the floor. He could feel it reverberating up his legs and sighing, he lounged over the bar lazily, right before realising his arms were attached to some kind of sticky substance; a drink hadn’t been wiped from the bar counter. “Can I get a cloth too?” he asked, lifting his arms with a grimace and then turning around to survey the club. He was interested in establishing any threats first, then he could try and enjoy himself.
@maxinebeauchamp
