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| The 57 Club, 10:30pm, Las Vegas | |||||
| The line of people outside the 57 Club ran along the street west for several blocks. The cab driver pulled as close as he dared with his vehicle, which was across the street and a block down. Mac paid him and included an ample tip.
The chilled night air ruffled his hair, sending the long front locks over his eyes as he checked to his right and left before crossing the street. Even from outside he could smell the Clove cigarettes mingled with regular nicotine. It had been years since he'd ventured out into a club of any kind, preferring to spend his time reading or searching the web. One thing he hadn't expected was the length of the line to enter. Well, I don't have any special pass or influence here. I'm out of my league. I guess I'll just have to wait. I'm not even sure the 'crouts went inside this place. So what if their taxi stopped here –they might have stayed inside it and went to another bar. He started to his left, intent on finding the end of what appeared to be an endless snake of people. As he passed, a tall African American in a black leather jacket reached out and stopped Mac with a hand to the Adept's chest. Unsure of what he could have done to offend the club-goer, he looked up…and up into the man's dark eyes. His face was square, and his ebony skin so deep his features were only visible as glints and highlights on the higher planes of his face. The giant nodded to something behind Mac. "You're wanted up there. Door guy's call'n ya." Me? Mac turned to his right, twisting at the waist as he looked back to head of the line where indeed a tall, stocky bearded man in a red satin jacket bearing the club's logo was waving at him. Still unsure, Mac pointed to himself and inclined his head forward, his eyebrows arched. "Yeah! You!" the doorman shouted. Suspicion snaked fingers up along his back. As he began walking along the line of people to the front he slipped his Raybands on. The doorman was Awakened. He felt the sharp looks from the waiting clubbers as he paused at the front of the line. The doorman put a hand on his shoulders. He leaned forward and looked into Mac's eyes. His breath smelled of alcohol and chewing tobacco. "Nice rig." Mac realized a beat later that the doorman had complimented his computer bag. He gave the burly man a half smile and nodded. "Thanks." The Adept rubbed his shoulder when the door guard released it. Mac watched him reach inside his jacket pocket and pull out what appeared to be tickets. "Free drinks. Use'm wisely." The door guard stepped aside and Mac nodded as he slipped past and into the dark entrance to the 57 club. He had to remove his shades in order to see in the darkness, but nothing could shield his ears from the thrumming music that vibrated the floor and walls. The cacophony of screams and shouts of raucous partying mingled with the laughter of alcohol and drug induced stupors as he emerged from the nearly black entranceway and into the main bar and performance area. A sea of dancers bounced up and down before him, accenting the up and down beats of Dirty Vegas' "Days Go By". The full spectrum of the rainbow swirled from ceiling to floor, blinked on and off, in staccato patterns then on in full blinding whites. The stage at the back of the area was dark. The show had not started. Realizing he was standing in the path of traffic in and out of the club, Mac stepped down into the sea of bodies and made his way around the edges to a grouping of tables to the right. A few were empty and he took the one closest to the dance floor. Almost before he could settle himself in, a bouncy, cheerfully smiling cheerleader – waitress – dressed in a tight-fitting tee-shirt bearing the club's logo across her ample breasts appeared in front of him. "Hi!" He opened his mouth to speak, cleared his throat and returned with "Hi." She moved closer and leaned toward him, exposing more than her pearly, straight white teeth. Eyes up, eyes up, eyes up… "What can I get you?" Bat of the eyes. Widening of the smile. Jiggle, jiggle. Nervous – and feeing a bit tight around the – Mac loosened the top button of his black shirt and smiled. "Margarita?" "Would you like salt on that?" But his gaze had drifted back down to the rounded melons straining to escape beneath her tee shirt. "Oh yeah…all over them-" Idiot! He looked back into her eyes. They were green. Bright green. "Yes. Please." As if these kinds of come-ons happened all the time, she paid his slip of propriety no mind, she reached out and tousled his long bangs with her red lacquered nails, then disappeared into the sea of dancers. Stupid…stupid…stupid… He closed his eyes and banged his right fist against his forehead twice. Idiot. You're here for a reason…not that you really know what that reason is. Get your attention focused. Look around you. Take in your surroundings. Remember what Trent taught you. With a deep breath, he removed his laptop case and set it on the floor next to him. He hoped the vibrations of the music didn't jiggle anything lose – including his teeth. Mac fished in his inside breast pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out his Treo 300 and two of his smart cards. He slipped the Raybands over his eyes and activated his 'detection' Rote. The numbers ran across the inside of his lenses.
What gives with that? But he wasn't given to time for too much worry over the Vampire's plight. There, to the right of the farthest bar, stood two very bright people. Bright as in the colors of Mac's lenses sparkled when he looked through them at the two. One was tall male, close-cropped blondish brown hair. He was dressed in a very expensive Versache suit and wore a look of intense concentration. Beside him stood one of the most breath-taking brunettes Mac had seen. She wasn't as tall as her friend - he assumed they were friends because of their close stance - but he could tell even from this distance that she was lithe. And that smallness probably held a fierce woman beneath it. Dark, thick hair cascaded over her brown shoulders, and he assumed her ethnic background was somewhere along Italian. Her dark eyes looked about the room, searching, scanning. She wore a simple black dress - anything else would overwhelm her subtleness. He didn't want her to see him just yet, and so he taped a few of the buttons on the Treo and set up his PCD. He knew the headache would begin again with its use, but Mac didn’t plan on having it activated for long. Just enough to not be noticed. Continuing his scan about the club. In a booth near the stage, across the dance floor, stood a tall attractive man with his back to the stage, his own dark gaze scanning the crowd. What caught Mac's attention most about him was his coat – an exact replica of the Cassock worn by Keanu Reeves in Reloaded. It had to have cost a fortune. He briefly wondered if the young man should be in the club at all – he looked as if he were barely sixteen. On the other side of the stage, up and to the right of where Mac sat, was the stage's sound booth. Inside he could see a young woman and man engaged in a lively conversation. Once or twice the man pointed at the air and apparently spoke to…the air? Mac leaned forward and removed his glasses. Was that guy wearing a poncho? His first unconscious impression of the guy was 'Shaman' - the word coming unbidden to his mind. There was something timeless about him - and wise. It was then he spotted the soldiers across the dance floor, seated at a table opposite of Mac's. They were again having drinks and talking in low voices. Once or twice the blond soldier retrieved his phone from his fatigue pockets and spoke into it. Mac wished he could tap into the conversation, but that ability wasn't within his realm of expertise. Yet. And what are they doing here? At a club? He returned his Raybands to his jacket pocket but kept his Treo in his hand. He hadn't really stopped to consider all that had happened in the past day and a half. Twenty-four hours ago he was selling used and new books in Atlanta, Georgia, furnishing info on the Web. Now here he sat in a club in Las Vegas, surrounded by Awakened Mages, across the room from two 'crouts, and no home to return too. Any normal person would probably just buy a bottle of Wild Turkey and say what the fuck. But me? No…I got to get right in the middle of something I know nothing about. The bouncy blond returned then with his drink. He smiled up at her, forcing himself to keep eye contact. She leaned further forward as she set down a logo printed napkin and then set a large, bell shaped glass of green liquid before him. Stuck in the side was a red umbrella. Oh hell… He handed her the free drink pass and a five. She gave him quick kiss on the cheek and bounced away into the crowd. He sipped the Margarita. It was cold and tangy, and he could taste the alcohol. And again he realized he'd not eaten since before boarding the plane. He should order something – or he was going to get very drunk very fast. I have no tolerance for alcohol. He looked through the dancers at the 'crouts. But if I survive this, I might develop one. "Ladies and Gentlemen…" The house lights faded and Mac's attention was then drawn to the stage. The burly doorman stood in the direct center and a spotlight illuminated him, the light blaring from the highlights of his red satin shirt. "The 57 Club is proud to present to you, the one and only, the incredible…Johnny Meyer and the Palominos!" Mac winced as the crowd roared. He glanced over at the 'crouts, who sat with stony faces. The spotlight then illuminated what at first Mac believed was a small boy. This Johnny Meyer didn't look any older than the guy in the cassock did. He was wiry thin, with an androgynous face, but when he began singing, all bets were off. His voice was thought felt, emotional, gravely and way beyond the boy's apparent years. It didn't take his shades or his talent to realize this boy/man was Awakened. Or if not Awakened, a definite potential. The song continued on and Mac found himself enjoying the music. He'd finished half of the Margarita before his Treo buzzed on the table. He saw the screen flashing and flipped open the lid. It was an email from an unknown sender. He wondered if Trent had sent him something more on the Void Engineer.
Mac swallowed and looked around the club to make sure no one was watching him. Satisfied he was still 'invisible', he continued to read the email. AFTER THE LAST SET, GO TO THE PARKINGLOT "Enigma takes you were dogma cannot. You do not create the path to Ascension; you explore it." Now I've received a missive. Remembering how some of the emails received by other Mages disappeared or self erased, Mac pulled a pen from his laptop bag and began scribbling down the directions on several napkins. It was hard to see in the flashing light and he had to scroll up the screen to check. And as he did… …the email disappeared. Luckily he'd copied it off. He tucked the napkins into his coat pocket, dialed Trent and told him exactly what had happened. "Be careful, Mac." Trent's voice was solid, yet Mac could hear the slight tremble in it. "It appears the fun is just beginning." |
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