As she trekked through the streets, skirting knots of gawkers at the various sights of Firelight-- public copulation, theatrical displays of hedge-magic by hawkers and street performers-- Dieza began to rehearse her explanation to Polette.  "You see," she whispered to herself, adding gestures for emphasis, "it's not that I locked myself<i>out</i>of the apartment, it's that I locked your things in, for their safety.  When the bugbear knocked three doors down, I could sense--" her fantastical story trailed off as she neared the club, mopping her sweating face with the hem of her gray cloak.  "--er, anyway... that's why I'm here.  I had to come to your..."  A slender half-elf male wearing some velvety contraption Dieza could only describe as a 'cock-purse' strode by, his eyes wide and dark with opiates.  "... your wwwwworkplace."  She caught herself staring and swung her head upright, as if fascinated by the mosaic lighting above the Inferno's door.  "Oh... so pretty," she mumbles.  "So hot here," she moans, a little breathlessly as she peeks back over her shoulder at the slim naked ass in retreat before she darts toward the employee's entrance up the alley.<br/><br/>Luck is with her, as she's far from stealthy, but she's reached the kitchen doors just as a pipe-armed half-orc hauls out a mop-bucket to dump.  He's cursing to himself in a tongue she doesn't follow, but she's able to slip into the service door before it locks itself shut.  From there, Dieza's in--hemming her way through the busy staff and out into the broad, cool room of the main club.  She hopes to avoid notice or trouble; using her friend Polette's name might save her a beating, but she'd rather be spared the embarrassment of having to use it.