<div style="background-color:#353535; border:1px solid black; margin:10px 10px; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 5px;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: italic">Oh, God...</span> The unlikely oath echoed in Vivienne's head as she felt the soles of her shoes unstick from the floor - again. It wasn't even that late - did they never clean this place? In her black pencil skirt, billowing black and white striped shirt and flawless lipstick, Vivienne was a sharp dressed woman. Maybe a little too sharp - there was something about the way she fit into the overall picture, as if she had been cut out from another and photoshopped into where she was now, which was a - well, she had no idea what she would call it, as she did not have a broad enough vocabulary to properly express her distaste for the place. Suffice to say that it had a small stage, a bar, and dim enough lighting to mercifully hide the filth on the floor. Under normal circumstances, Vivienne would never even as much as glance down the museum alleyway where the club was. She belonged in the sun; on pristine marble floors. Not in places like this. But it had been a long time since she had done 'normal'; she had duties, and duties had to be fulfilled.<br/><br/>The demon had chosen a table a bit back and to the left. Here she sat, outward perfection incarnate, letting her gaze sweep disdainfully across the room. It was not very late yet, so it still was not too crowded, a fact for which she was thankful. A couple of guys were semi-nervously whispering among themselves on the stage. She heard a door slam nearby, followed by the sounds of muffled laughter, quickly stifled.<br/><br/>"Hey, can I-"<br/><br/>"No."<br/><br/>The approaching man slunk back as if she had whipped him with electric wire. Vivienne did not spare a him another glance. He was only the second person to attempt to even sit in her vicinity, but it was enough. The 'leave me alone or you will be sorry'-attitude was rolling off her in icy waves. Even the people who were just now arriving knew something was off, and pack mentality made them instinctively avoid the tables closest to her, like fish avoiding sharks. <span style="font-style: italic">Or maybe 'piranha' is more appropriate.</span> Those seats were taken, anyway. Rumor had reached the Underworld of a rise in several promising souls. While still nothing more than a rumor, and likely highly exaggerated, it was juicy enough for Vivienne to pursue it.<br/><br/>Although entertaining, gossip was not what had dragged Viv in here. There had been a general change in her clientele(or victims, if you thought of it that way), who were usually businessmen of varying degrees of success. A revolting tendency of more social awareness had drastically diminished the amount of corruption and lessened the urge to step on people in order to obtain material wealth. It was a lot less easy to convince people to sign away their eternal life now. She had been thrown from her usual hunting grounds of clear glass elevators, rooms with mahogany furniture, and lush theater seats and into this. For some reason, the idea of Hell appealed to the people who went in here. She could not fathom why, but she was not the type to discard easy prey. Neither were the other demons in here. She could sense the presence of a few of her kin in the dim room, like an almost unnoticeable, sour smell, combined with the feeling that some people looked a little too much like cut-out dolls.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Well. Nothing like a healthy competition for a couple of mortal souls to liven up your night - even if working on commission and under the threat of everlasting torture sucks a bit.</span> She crossed her legs, closing her eyes for a fraction of a second when she felt her right pump only reluctantly letting go of the disgusting floor. <span style="font-style: italic">This better fucking be worth it.</span></div></div>