Nino chuckled softly and clapped a firm palm on the round of Cains slim, little shoulder, "I call bullshit," his tone gentle and oddly caring in spite of what he'd said. He gave the kid a little reassuring shake.<br/><br/>The car began to pull over, brake whining in protest. Buildings, streets and crowds milled into view like film reams through the window screens. The club itself was an old building, maybe even a church or printing house in the way back when, brickwork telling of its 1800 design, moss and exhaust stains hinting of its disrepair. On the front of this old building, with it's stained glass windows they had bolted a giant neon pyramid, all up the walls ancient egyptian style paintings, birds and reeds, stood at the door were beautiful, long legged women with black bob hair cuts, smoking and complaining about shitty work uniforms next to the bouncers. The place itself wasn't popular, the bar next door pulling in ten times the people, but the music was live and the setting was quiet.<br/><br/>"Call me psychic," Nino carried on under his breath to the boy, "but I think you're off about something. Hell, I don't care, we can split off from the group if you're feeling awkward! I just-- just don' wanna be draggin' you some place you don't wanna go, y'know?" he took another long drag of his cigarette.