"Bat your eyes, girl. Be other-worldly. Count your blessings. Seduce a stranger." An unimpressive mid-soprano voice sang out while too-blue eyes stared into the vanity mirror. The pads of her fingertips pulled the edge of her left eye slanted and tight. A bass line began to grow from the relatively high-end sound system in the corner of the room. Applying eyeliner was always such a daunting task. The soothing tones of sweet Incubus offered a sense of relaxation as the Whirling Dervish painted up her face and slipped into a proper outfit. Thanks to the kindness of Romax Pol she had a room and stocked closet at the club to use if she felt the need to change at any point. Given the fact that it was only two in the afternoon, that was beginning to look like a definite possibility.

A classic little black dress had been selected for today. The skirt came to mid-thigh and was tight against her skin. A haltered top circled around her neck and left her upper back and recently acquired tattoo exposed. Something about the tattoo had made her want to show it off with every opportunity. The facial piercings were something she had to think long and hard about before making a decision. In the end she decided to put them in and let them serve as a barrier between herself and anyone who didn't find them particularly appealing.

Flattening tufts of purple hair were given a comb before she reached for her clutch and headed for the door. It was a short walk to the Asylum. The apartment door was left unlocked and the keys twirled on her finger before being tossed into her bag. She met a neighbor on the stairs and offered a weak smile before heading out into the street. Most of her neighbors couldn't stand her.

Even with the slight modification to her appearance the doorman at the Asylum had no trouble identifying the Derby Dame. Without being carded, charged, or questioned, she was let inside. There was something overwhelmingly comforting about being in a building without windows during the heat of the day. It was cool in the club, cool and dark. A few patrons were scattered here or there and the music was at a much lower volume than it would be in just four hours time.

One of the girls had already offered her a wave and Sami headed in the direction of the bar. Unnatural cerulean peepers glowed with stored glamour in the blacklight. A congenial smile twisted on her pina colada glossed lips and the pitch of her voice went sharp with nervousness.

"Hello! I'm supposed to be meeting Lani, Dru, and Isir here today. Are they around or..." Her voice trailed off for a moment as she stared up at the one-way windowed room overlooking the club. "Guess I need to pay my respects to Lord Pol as well. He'd be furious if I stopped in without saying 'Hi', yeah?"

The serving girl seemed to smile and was well on her way to passing along the message. A Bicardi and juice was already served up without Sami needing to ask for it. She had thought to wave off the alcoholic drink, but soon stopped and thought better of it. Drink in hand, the Derby Dame went to grab a seat at a curved table where she could keep an eye on the front door and the room above.

This had the makings of being a very interesting night.

Darkness became her, both in name and in atmosphere. It was only the glimmer of light that reflected off the bone bleached nature of her hair that gave the Demure Darkling away. Black upon black, the inert hover of dim overheads highlighted the drowess further, kissing her skin it's faint purple glimmer. Swift and still all at once, Isir could be mistaken for a statue as much as an assassin, for suddenly, yet unobtrusively, there she was beside the Delicate Dervish. White, white teeth flashed in a sweet smile to her ever fabulous friend.

"Pleasant day to you, dear Samilee." Cool, smooth, creeping and familiar as the air of the Asylum itself; it seemed as though the drowess had fit in quite easily with the environment of her new home. As a pet of Romax Pol, Isir was always dressed quite appropriately. Her body catered to exotic fabrics that complimented her natural poise and posture, moving like water in the smooth slink of her soundless steps.

A flicker stole the drowess' attention away from her friend, however, if only for a split second.

Isir always noticed others like her, but she never interacted with them. In the still pond that was the Asylum Club so early in the day, the silvery eyed drow was a most alarming ripple. Blood rich eyes slipped back towards Sami's cerulean peepers, drawn like a moth by the flame to their pleasant glow. Her smile had never waned. If anything, it curled sweetly at each corner of her lips; an expression most befitting her status as an unconventional creature.

"... and yes, my Lord would be quite displeased if you did not bid him the pleasure of your presence." Obviously those finely pointed ears that split the cascade of her hair weren't just decoration. For all the formality of her speech, that serene expression never faltered, the Promethean was a woman who's very exhale was full of contagious emotions.

The drow paused in the middle of the room, ebon digits diving through that mane of silver as he tried his hardest not to sneer at the relatively small (or so he assumed) crowd gathered at the Asylum Club. Vilrath continued walking through the room, fading into the blackness caused by the lack of windows and the mass of bodies. Shadows were his home after all, as clich?d as it may have been.

He might as well have been invisible in that short time, slinking through the crowd without a sound. A silent, empty cathedral couldn?t echo his footsteps. It took him a moment to pick out the vaguely familiar voice over the meshed together sounds of music, talking, laughing, and so on emitting from the club and the crowd. But once done, Vilrath turned and followed it like a hunter.

He came into sight once disentangling himself from the crowd, stepping and toward the table claimed by Samilee and the female drow. Eyes fell on Sami?s dark skinned companion with no small amount of suspicion as he neared. Slowly though, Vilrath turned his moonlit gaze back to Sami, a smirk quirking at the edge of his lips.

?Doesn?t smell like piss.?

The drow, however unsettlingly familiar, was a guest in her Lord's home. To spit verbally or physically, to comment upon expectations or curt nonchalance; from the absurd to the mundane, Isir would never rebuttal, she would only bow. Loyalty was ever deep, then again, Dru held the darkest bite of the Master, and it was something to admire every time. A subtle incline of the head and neck gave the most dramatic results; it was all that hair you see, so vast and rigidly undulant, a waterfall of fairy tale white against the glimmering onyx of her skin. She murmured her greetings as any good pet.

"Greetings to you, First Sister... And Sir, May this one humbly welcome you to her Lord's most diabolically delightful play place, The Asylum." The words flowed naturally, as if it were something born and bred. Though she was here to entertain her Sisters, a double edged pleasure in it's own right, courtesy was the first priority in the name of the Master. She was a treasure among his many, and her gleam should be radiant.

A hand slipped outwards then, motioning to the line of the bar that Samilee and Dru were oh so naturally perched beside. Dark lips curved in a motion meant to please as well as enrapture. A demure, shimmering doll with all the proper poise, Isir's hip followed in a casual lean to ly against the bar.

"My dear friend Samilee, here, makes a most fine recommendation for your relaxation, Sir. There is no greater place for peace than the Darkness..." An sentiment, she knew, on some level, that would resonate as a truth within the dark visitor and his tinted red shades. Though Isir was not educated in any way of her own kind, the creature was smart enough to know that most species had familiar traits, and her own preference for the shadows was too strong to be a singular occurrence; it was far too ingrained.

Three pretty creatures laid in a row, each a rough jewel in their own right, collared or no, before they were curved and polished by the infamous Lord, Romax Pol.

Although the first girl noted the male drow's shielded nature, she didn't make it apparent. That was his prerogative just as her own actions and words were heavily guarded. From the moment her Master had taken her under His wing she was bred to be alert and on point at all times, swathed in a bubbly air and friendly smile behind a curtain of pale blonde locks.

Her soft features were fixed into a warm mask of mild curiosity, but she was ever vigilant, particularly of Vilrath. Any changes in his expression, adjustments to stance, and visible weapons were noted. The information carefully stored within the sweet girl's mind, although none of that was clear behind her blue doe eyed stare.

Instead, her own chin dipped briefly towards her chest, the simple gesture sent in Isir's direction. "Sister." She replied. It was not a term Dru used lightly and this was made quite apparent by the loving tone that wrapped itself about the word. Her bright gaze was on the move and settled upon Vilrath once again as she listened to the Demure Darkling so confidently offer the man a bit of insight into the club. How Isir had blossomed and grown into the woman Lord Pol knew she could become all along. It was enough to make the Mad Little Mother Duckling swell with pride, but this was not the time.

She offered another polite giggle at the man's comment. "Even the most beautiful of creatures must keep a bit of venom in their possession to protect themselves, Sir, don't you agree? But with full confidence I can assure you none of the girls that occupy the Asylum offer the slightest bit of threat to you. They won't bite." There was a pause, a row of neat white teeth presenting themselves when her lips curled back into a sly grin. "Unless, of course, you are interested in such a thing, Sir. Then I promise I will personally handle those arrangements for you." Who said people in the business of perversion couldn't be polite?

Silver eyes leveled on Dru as she spoke, blank and indifferent. Vilrath never wore thoughts or emotions on his sleeve, liked to keep others guessing. By the time the woman had finished talking, he had already thought up his simple, short, and curt response. "I'm fine," said the drow, turning to look at the gathered company once again in a sweep of his gaze.

Were Vilrath a simpler man, one with less of an attitude, he may have considered himself lucky. He pondered this with hidden amusement as he studied the three women gathered in his presence. Something most would try and take advantage of. Something he saw no point in. As Sami began speaking again, his attention was directed toward her. At least he looked you in the eye when you were talking.

"If that's the case then the odor would never leave," a noncommittal shrug accompanied his response. "As I'm sure this place is assaulted with such a stench every night," lips tugged into a faintly amused smirk while the drow's moonlit eyes danced away from the group to the rest of the club, perusing the gathered crowd with open distaste. People. They made his skin crawl.

"I don't like sitting and watching people. I may get nauseous if I do," he said as his attention turned back to Samilee. "And I don't need others' help to get comfortable. I'm capable of attending to myself," the drow added as an afterthought.

A slender white brow arched as Sami leaned in, another faintly amused smirk pulling at his lips by the time she finished speaking. "Everything bites, Sami," he explained as if it were the most commonly known thing in the world.