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Hellfire, hellfire, take my soul…
Lucian isn't just cause for anyone to lock their doors tonight. Lux is in full swing, even if the mixed clientele is more diverse than some. Men and women slow dance to the melodies of conversation and intrigue, liquid libations poured by a strawberry blonde woman at the bar. The prominent chalked sign reads "No dull drinks served wanted worth the effort gonna make you happy" with several changing lines underneath. Probably some kind of joke, all said and done. Yet those of many colours and creeds and races mix freely in a sign of the times. Armageddon, if you're disposed towards thinking the socialisation of those betters and lesser signals the very end. If that's the case, the proprietor has a few words. Typically beginning with 'You are' and ending with 'ignorant idiot.'
He has a cigarette between his lips and stalks more than anything down the stairs from the mezzanine, generally ignoring the activity around him.
"Uncouth…"
Baron Karl Mordo stands near the bar of the nightclub, dressed in a comfortable, stylish suit, and frowns quizzically at his surroundings. This is not a place in which he had ever expected to find himself, but… the world is clearly changing, as Lux certainly proves.
"I don't suppose you serve Dragon's Blood here?" he asks of the bartender in a tone that could be taken for humour…
Uncouth: that's one way to look at it. The servers are a predominantly feminine set, though not exclusively. The bartender being female on the face of things is unique, because what institution allows ladies to touch alcohol? Clutch your pearls and lock your doors. The times are a changing, and nowhere so different than Lux. The blonde looks up from her preparations of one bottle intriguingly stopped in a spiral of cork. "The actual thing, or the cocktail or something you've made up?"
Legitimate question. Drifting in behind the line of stools comes the man himself. Well, man is a misnomer. He sucks on the filter of the cigarette, making no moves to disrupt the conversation.
<~Well, at least they've heard of a decent drink…~> Mordo exclaims to himself in the quiet of his mind, and he smiles a little at the bartender. "The cocktail, if you will." While waiting for his drink then, he turns about and rolls a coin over his mocha-skinned knuckles, eyes on the crowd.
Magic is strong here, even if the ebb and flow of it is a little different to the kinds of places Mordo usually frequents — such as the Bar With No Doors. It is more subtle. There is also something… naughty about the 'taste' of magic in the room, and it appeals.
Surveying the room eventually brings the warlock's attention toward the proprietor, and his dark eyes narrow. The smile widens a little.
The strawberry blonde bartender turns to assess the range of bottles on shelves and below decks, humming to herself. The musing sound hasn't any doubts. She merely ponders the alchemical formulae that time requires her to keep in her head, and picks out a few choices that seem to be at random.
"The third bottle from the left," Lucian tells her. She almost jumps, straightening up. A look shot over the bar lands on the blond smoking easily. A ceramic ashtray gets plunked on the stone bar. "Yes, I'll make sure not to get ashes everywhere for you to clean up." He blows out a stream of grey smoke into the air where the glittering copper lights might tint it.
Magic. There is a terrible sense of promise and potential here. Lux, after all, has a powerful name in the history of the world, in a sense. It takes little to shake free a sense of something noteworthy. Leaning on the bar, he cuts a neat figure. He arches his brows at Mordo slightly. "Looking for something in particular?"
"I may have found it," replies the warlock with a wry smirk. Yes, threads of light and dark all seem to converge upon this fellow… Mordo tilts his head down a bit, arching a brow of his own at Lucian and then gives a light snort.
"This is an… interesting establishment," he tells the proprietor. "Very… progressive. One must imagine you're quite the topic of gossip."
He holds out a hand.
"Mordo, Baron Mordo."
The warlock's smirk matches the one carved of old on the blond lion. He plucks the cigarette from his mouth and dashes the end in an ashtray. "It or him? Welcome to Lux, either way. We make a point of breaking with tradition where it serves a greater good."
The bartender shakes up and mixes the cocktail with a graceful ease, pouring out the contents into a glass. She sets it on a coaster atop the marble and granite bar.
The hand offered is taken. His grip is firm and certain, those glittering blue eyes resting directly upon him. "Baron Mordo, a pleasure. Lucian." Keep it simple, after all.
"I can't help but notice the… groove? of the place," Mordo inquires with a meaningful glimmer in his eye. "Your personal touch, I assume?" The coin in the baron's other hand vanishes seemingly into thin air, and when his drink arrives, he reaches for it.
Down it goes.
He smiles.
A moment later, the coin appears in Lucian's hand. It bears an interesting crest — a many-tentacled face indicative of a certain hell-lord or extra-dimensional being.
"A token from…an associate," Mordo explains. "One who suggested we should… become acquainted."
The use of the coin is an interesting one, whether as payment for drink or a business code. Lucian opens his fingers and considers the shape painted there. The crest — if it's a hell lord — is one he will recognise. He should. He never forgets a face and, after so many years, that's a good who's who he can call on.
"A suggestion." He muses over that for a moment. The coin is pocketed away in his trousers. His shirt doesn't have a front pocket, choices are limited. "How fascinating. Then I suppose you ought to know the rules of the house."
The woman moves down to service more drinks, putting three glasses of unusual shape onto a serving tray.
"One," Lucian says, "this is neutral territory. No trouble wanted from various parties. Entertainment and a safe haven are significant. Two, mind your manners and messes. The staff is discreet and doesn't much care what your poison or vice is. I will be unamused if they're hassled. As we are both gentlemen here, I'm sure you will be more than comfortable and welcome. "
"Sensible rules for a — ," slight hesitation here. " — sensible House," Mordo replies, and he inclines his head. "It is fortunate that some customs transcend… area codes, so to speak. Misunderstandings can be so very… disquieting."
The warlock lifts his chin and smiles. "I acknowledge your hospitality and respond with humble gratitude. You run a fine establishment… Lucian."
Mordo motions toward the coin. "Hold onto it; explanations can wait for another time better suited to long discourses. For now… I should like to enjoy the ambience — and another Dragon's Blood, if you will."
"Some do. We offer hospitality and welcome to all. Of course that disturbs a few patrons, and not the sort we generally welcome." Lucian dashes the cigarette in the ashtray, what remains. It certainly burned through quicker than expected. If anyone is noting, anyways.
He chuckles, a low sound that could be construed as a stroke up the back for the spine. "The desserts are delicious temptation. Worth it, if you are inclined, Baron. They pair best with the drinks, of course. I'll leave you to your indulgences and learning what the house has to offer."
And, without a doubt, he has been marked by the absent ruler of Hell. All of them.