When you wish upon a...(Gemorrah Nigh Club) (Popta

Mikhainon was a bit different from other demons. He liked to think of himself as separate from the majority of his kind. Unlike them, he didn't live like he had a massive stick up his ass.

But they were made of the same things. Beyond his charming smile, he was a predator through and through.

He built the Night Club as a party and a temple. More than that, as a playground to mess with people's heads. He seemed to be right on track when he noticed the teenager hanging outside of the building, trying to look casual but sticking out like a sore thumb. He smelled like a non-human. Why wasn't he going in?

Mikhainon shapeshifted into a small sparrow and flew a block away from Loch. When he landed on the ground, he turned into a human, but not the usual attractive male redhead he traveled around in.

Mikhainon turned into a female human. Standing at almost 5'10"ft with a perfect hourglass figure, straight blonde hair that stopped at her lower back and perfectly smooth skin, she was a stunning head turner. It didn't help that she dressed rather provocatively, with her tight corset top, leather pants and five inch heels.

She walked to the establishment, skirting around the line and eyeing any possible openings into the club. Seeing none, she noticed Lochlann hanging out at the corner.

"Hey, you!" She went to his side, grabbing his arm. "Are you non-human? Can you get me in? I heard humans with powers can go in but they need to be with a non-human. Please, please, please. I mean, you're super cute, I can buy you a drink and we'll see what happens... but only if we get inside." She winked at him.

[ooc: Just go in! Mikhainon's men at the door can smell energy as well as he does, so they'd be able to identify he's a non-human without having them transform.]

Mikhainon/Cecilia/Mikhainon-as-Cecilia giggled, blushing a little. "Sweet talker, huh? Maybe I should hold onto you so you don't get swept away by all the pretty girls inside." She leaned closer — if he would notice, she wore a light perfume that smelled of roses — and eyed the crowd, not wanting to be heard. "I heard there are succubi inside tearing the place up. It's kind of scandalous and I so want to see."

At the question, she shook her head. "Me? No way! I heard that Gabriel Baltimore's a real hardass with security. I tried shapeshifting into a big ol' orc the other night and they turned me down, but they let the kid with the huge classes behind me in because he was apparently part-faerie. Freaking a-holes. He didn't even have wings."

Mikhainon noticed he was dragging this on quite a bit. Ah, yes, teenagers often hid their ignorance under aloofness. She wanted to help guide him inside.

She slipped her hand from his arm to his hand, holding it tightly, and dragged him into the line with her. The line moved fairly quickly, considering all the guards did was take a good sniff of them and decide whether they could go inside or not.

When it was their turn, the guard gave them a suspicious look — it could come off as them being suspicious of the girl, but it was truly because they were wondering why their master would even need to get in line. She clutched his arm tightly. "He's my boyfriend," she said.

He assumed it was one of his games again. He let them in without a hitch. Inside, there was a sharp pleasant scent and loud, thumping music. She looked at Lochlann with bright, happy eyes and smiled at him, still holding his hand.

Cecilia had gotten fond of the boy, giggling coyly whenever he would compliment her and entertaining all of her ideas. So, when she stepped forward with the pretense of getting lost in the club and ditching him for all its wonders and possibilities, she looked back at him and their hands still together.

She tried to process how she felt about this. After a brief moment of consideration, she stepped back to wrap herself around his arm again, smile bright and charming. "Oh, that's right, boyfriend. You do."

She scoped the entire ground floor. There was a dance floor at the right side — it was a warm, sweaty orgy of bodies thrashing together to the loud, deafening beat. On the left, stairs, tables, and a bar with a massive shelf that touched the ceiling. A crowd was gathered around the counters, but the servers were quick to get to the customers. Underneath the chaos of the night club was a perfectly efficient system that ran like clockwork.

"Come on! This way. I hear their drinks are great. Gabriel has, like, this magical dealer and he gets all sorts of cool stuff, or at least that's what Tiffany said. They say he has this... special shelf, and it's not alcohol, it's downright witchcraft and it's some really shady shit. I want to see."

As she walked him to the bar counter, she looked at him, reaching out to push his hair back a little so she could see the whole of his face. "Y-you're really good at this whole cool and stoic pretty boy thing, you know that? It gets me going, kinda. I'm Cecilia. Call me Chell."

Mikhainon was amused at how easily he fell into her web, how desperate he was with contact. Teenagers were almost too easy. She did everything to encourage that behavior, like stumbling a little bit backwards when someone walked fast right in front or squeezing his bicep casually.

At the question, she deliberated on the answer for a moment. She finally said, "Everything. The stuff does... everything. I don't really know how. Tiffany posted this whacked out picture on her instagram where she grew an extra limb and she said the kick was better than her best orgasm." She leaned backward to whisper in his ear. "And she's a slut so you know what she's talking about."

She paused. "Oh, and, the limb sort of melted in the morning when she woke up the next day, so don't you worry about having magical arms forever."

Lochlann, Loch, Loch, Loch... So that was his name. Mikhainon would probably forget it in a couple of days, but for now, it was an important thing to remember. "Lochlann. I like it. A cool name for a cool guy."

When they reached the bar, somehow, there was already a cleared space for them to seamlessly order whatever they wanted. The bartender gave Mikhainon a half-surprised half-nervous look that Mikhainon immediately discouraged with a sharp glare. She attempted to distract Lochlann by wrapping his arm around her waist, winking.

"Let's start small, ok? Two beers." She leaned closer to whisper in his ear again, and this time, she carefully brushed her lips against it. "Ask for their special shelf. We're definitely going to try them later."

Oh? This night just turned from "mildly interesting" to "incredibly exciting" because, all of a sudden, he was warning her as if she had a body made of mortal flesh, as if she was capable of dying. She wondered what kind of fun, demented things he was planning on doing to her. She kept her amusement to herself, but gave Lochlann a reassuring smile. "I've got claws too, big boy. Don't you worry about me. I'm not made of glass."

Mikhainon had been around for a long time. She knew the kind of signal he was giving and, deciding to humor the boy, met his kiss. She was no slouch with kissing. She pressed her body against his, her large chest against his, running her hand up his arm before ultimately wrapping it around his neck. She kissed him with fervor, but she never let it go deep and she opted not to drag it on.

After all, the night was still young.

She detached herself from him, but let him touch her wherever he liked. She picked her beer up, kissed the opening with her full lips — making sure to maintain eye contact as she did — and took a good, long swig. She turned her attention to the counter.

They brought out the long, tiny shelf. It was full of small, 50ml vials filled with colorful liquids. They didn't have labels on, just price tags, ranging from $100,000 to, for tonight, $1.5mil. "What do these vials do?" she asked the bartender.

The bartender was briefed of the game by her sharp glare earlier, so he decided to answer her as if she was any other customer. "Gabriel Baltimore's keeping it secret for 'a fun surprise', but rest assured, they do a variety of harmless supernatural effects and the pleasure gained is proportional to the price tag."

Mikhainon knew exactly what sort of things the vials did. She eyed the $600,000 one — truth serum, extreme confidence, with a large dose of aphrodisiac. Fairy wings, too, just to please the crowd. Back to being Cecilia, she looked back at Lochlann, shrugging. "Shit's expensive, right? Luckilyyyyy..."

She pulled out a platinum credit card from her breasts. "Ta-da!" She laughed. "Ganked this from my asshole musician ex. Fuck that guy, anyway."