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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Catulle" data-source="post: 884458" data-attributes="member: 9942">Antiquities Nightclub, ManhattanWednesday 11th December, 2002The club's rich, deep scent caught Vychtorya's imagination as much as it did her sense of smell. The crowds had gathered, though the Mezzanine remained clear and afforded, she knew only too well, a sweeping view of the assembled throng when, as was now the case, the heavy curtain was drawn back. The tall figure perched on the balustrade was inches from dropping over the edge and threw her a casual wave, wild hair spilling over the edge and being whipped into motion by the currents generated by the air conditioners. Mazz's long coat was hanging over the rail at his side, and he wore a form-fitting shirt by the looks of it, more mexican than MoroccanAcross the room, she caught sight of that prefectly sculpted figure again, at rest and seemingly in her element by the main bar and playing court to a group of young hopefuls. Her head tilted back in an approximation of laughter; even from here, Vychtorya could discern the otherworldliness about the Kindred that she had been told hung, cloying and cold, about the truly potent of the blood. To the enraptured mortals, however, it all must have seemed an intoxicating game.</blockquote>