As his keen brown eyes became accustomed to the gloom of the small anteroom, the druid was able to watch the self-indulgent display unfold before him as the waifish brunette consumed in rapid succession every drink at the table before clamoring for more.  Although it was true that alcohol didn't have the same effect on various supernatural beings as it had on humans, succubae were by no means immune to its influence.  The temptress must feel herself at home here to become so compromised - as an outsider to the Palace the druid intended to maintain full control of his faculties tonight.<br/><br/>Gathering up his two drinks once more, Roman moved to their table and angled his long body into the seat beside the temptress, one arm draping across her slim shoulders to offer her the drink from the other side.  "Ever found anyone who could keep up with you, sweetheart?" he asked before tilting his head back as he downed his drink in one gulp.  Whether she took his proffered drink or he had to place it on the table instead, he moved his arm from her shoulders to rest lightly just above the small of her back.<br/><br/>"Why don't you two take in the scenery elsewhere for a while," he advised to the temptress's guests, in tones shaped to brook no argument.  Not actually a psychic suggestion, just delivered with a stern look to his hard features.  If he was to interrogate the succubus tonight he'd like to have removed her from the Palace entirely so that he could don the druid's mantle if needed, but seeing her in such an inebriated state made that unlikely.  No, he'd question the temptress here at the Sheik and Sheba, and that required privacy.  He knew that his movements were being watched - but not by whom - so tonight he had to act not as the druid but a mere man unwinding at this hedonists' mecca.<br/><br/>Snapping his fingers high above his head to summon a waiter's attention, Roman held three stiff $20 bills outstretched as the white-jacketed<span style="font-style: italic">draugr</span>servant approached.  "Bottle of the 1911 Grandes Marques, please.  Two glasses."  The revenant nodded as it accepted Roman's bills in its loutish hand, turning to shuffle out of the anteroom.  "You're a hard girl to find, Johnnie," he announced when the two were alone.  "But one worth doing so, from what I hear.  What does it take to get to know you some?"  He kept the lascivious tone of a man with only one thing on his mind.  This was her milieu after all - he hoped the temptress would respond to a man veritably begging to be tempted, like an open wallet before a pickpocket.<br/><br/>When the Champagne arrived he watched as the glasses were poured.  Handing one to the girl with the admonishment - "Try to taste this one on the way down, huh?" - he savored his own drink with a slow, discerning sip.  A pre-War Grandes Marques was terribly difficult to find - much of the Champenois ran straight across No Man's Land and had seen artillery bombardment  - but rumor had it the Palace was sitting on several cases among other treasures.  In this gaudy age of Jazz and gin the Palace assumed the aspect of a decadent nightclub but deep within its bowels were the fortunes of the oldest and most powerful families of the underworld.  Even Roman with his considerable ways had been rebuffed by its defenses when once trying to infiltrate the securer areas of the impossibly large complex.<br/><br/>"I have a proposal for you, Johnnie - care to guess what it is?"