Owner	Pose
Lucifer	A random night at Lux brings all the usual suspects. From the 9 to 5ers, the ne'er do wells, and all manners in between - provided they fit a sense of decorum at least. The drinks are flowing, the cages are swinging, and the dance floor is hopping with a DJ on point spinning the latest modern tune for people to move to. Servers maneuver thru the bar like fish in the sea, ebbing and waving through small pockets of crowds with trays of drinks to bring to tables and booths for those not sitting at the bars themselves. Lucifer Morningstar, owner and proprieter, stands in his usual perch. Tonight's ensemble is a immaculately worn suit of midnight blue with a black dress shirt patterned with white speckles to resemble stars. He has a handkerchief of the same material tucked neatly into his left breast pocket. His perch is the half-circle space next to the spiral stairs leading from top bar to bottom dance floor, he sips on whiskey and lets his eyes wander as this spot gives him a perfect view of the whole place - allowing him to see anything and everything all at once.
Thomas Raith	Billy and Georgia Bordon were once staples of the supernatural scene. Fighting the things that hunted in the night and protecting their little bit of the world by pushing back agienst the darkness. However after graduating collage, getting married, having a little girl, the pair of werewolves had slowed down considerably. Which is why they are here tonight, having their first proper date night in months with conflicting days off, baby sitters and other details that often make a rare night out impossible.
Nick	While reasonably dressed up, Nick is not here as entertainment tonight. Instead he is currently seated at the bar. With a notebook open, and currently working on...something. Scribble scribble. Was working... write write. Still working on- Scribble. MAKE UP YOUR DAMN MIND NICK! He's got a notebook open and he's altering a page inside with a series of markings. The usefulness of said markings is debatable. But he's doing something.
Sinister	Sinister is here. Of late, he's been not quite himself as much as he'd like to be, a feat that's been exhausting at times and frustrating at others. Being /nice/ is taxing. There are expectations and nobody particularly enjoys finding out they've been manipulated, played and steered into doing exactly what the man wants them to. Therefore, tonight is a night where he's indulging. So far, it's been a matter of wearing an incredible meat suit that is entirely tailored to the kind of crowd that's here tonight -- those that would want to be him, or be close to him, because it's easy to know what people want, when you can see it written plainly across the surface of thier minds. A little rollodex of names and contacts and potentially -contracts- are filling Sinister's phone.
Lucifer	Lucifer sips his whiskey as he takes stock on who is here that he may know. A shift of gaze to the upper bar where Nick is scrib--wri--scri-----doing something in a notebook. Of sorts. He also senses Nathaniel, and there's a quick shift of gaze in the man's general direction, a lofted brow, but then he turns his gaze away. When Nathaniel is in certain moods, Lucifer tends to not engage. Especially if this is after Ireland. He's got a long way to go to make up for that. Then there's something in the air, something a bit....different. He flares his nostrils a couple of times and skims the club once more to try and pinpoint what - or perhaps who - he's caught a whiff of. Supernatural creatures have a certain air about them, you know. And the Devil can mark one from miles away - let alone feet away in his own club.
Thomas Raith	The happy couple seem to be a little nervous, but game. Lux would not be their normal scene, but they are trying to branch out tonight. relive a bit of the times when they were still a pair of collage kids and young and adventurous. The find an empty table, watching the other people in the club dance and have a good time, though not yet engaging. The boy especially seems a bit more reserved. Fighting evil Fairy Assassins who try to drown you in fruit punch at your own wedding is one thing. Dancing? In front of people? That's different.
Nick	After a few more moments of the write, scribble dance, Nick shakes his head, setting the pen down. With a disguisted flip of the cover, the notebook is closed. A beer is set down next to him by the attentive bartender. "Thanks." Nick responds, reaching over to take the glass.
Sinister	This is a bit of a timey wimey wibbly wobbly mess of moebius, isn't it? It's likely to be -after- Ireland and the fairy loop of repeated tea meme. Settled in the lower end of the VIP section, Nathaniel leans to the ear on his left, rolls his head back against the apolstery and watches the floor beneath brows and down the planes of his cheeks. He might seem stoned, high, drunk or the ilk, but he's sober as the day is long. Just quite good at acting. How he can hear anything or perceive anything above the music and the din of conversation is by dint of white noise in the mind; his gaze fleetingly touched on Lucifer's when the devil glanced his way. Then it's off to the scribbler, on to the minds that are not -quite- human, but there's no agression or hostility to be found there. Malignant minds are fun things, they tend to be quite calm and disturbingly quiet, often enough. Keeping a mental ear out for them is sometimes a hobby. It keeps the wit sharp, at any rate, the ability to steer an incoming mind.
Lucifer	Lucifer decidedly takes a final sip of his current whiskey glass and sets it on the tray of a passing waitress. Then he tugs on his suit as if it were wrinkled already (its not) and shifts so he can walk down the spiral staircase and moves towards the table where the Bordon's have seated themselves. One cannot tell if this is something common that Lucifer does, or special due to what he senses - and likely one will never know. "Good evening, and welcome to Lux. Faces I've never seen before tend to draw my attention, I hope you don't mind. I just wanted to welcome you both and make sure you're feeling comfortable and welcomed..." He speaks with the tongue of silver and smiles with eyes that seem to hold all the hope of the world. It's a natural gift you know.
Thomas Raith	Billy and Georgia both smile at the club owner pleasantly as he approaches. "Nice to meet you sir," Billy offers with a warm smile of his own that is 100% genuine. Georgia smiles too adding "It's our first year wedding anniversey, and we'd heard allot about this place and decided to make it a special night." The man is non descript in every way, though that may make him stand out all the more in a place like this. Medium height, medium build. Short hair that could be light brown or could be dark blonde. Glasses with dark frames. Completely forgettable in every way. So is the gun that he draws, a sleek silver 10mm that doesn't so much "BANG" as much as it "Barks". He fires six rounds total, three at Billy another three at Georgia.
Nick	Beer in hand and in what he's now associating as a 'safe place', Nick is reasonably relaxed. So, when the sounds of gunfire start up, he is startled. As he turns, the glass is set down so quickly on the countertop that it looks like it is about to fall down. Until the bartender's quick response rights the glass. Nick's response may have been to say thanks once again, but that was contingent of him noticing the action. But for obvious reasons, that did not occur. Instead thoughts of a past shooting event is causing for Nick to shift to a different response, skirting forward to see what's going on but keeping low until he knows what they're up against. And for anyone more focused on the concert of his mind. Well- Concert's ended. Go home.
Sinister	Remember the calm minds? The intentionally malignant? Those sing like silence in a cacophany. Where he sits, Sin almost completely closes his eyes, as the woman on his left leans in to speak to the man across from her -- but everything is a thought and intent. I have a gun. Three to the left, three to the right. Sin's mouth twitches, a fleeting almost smile, almost grimace and he stares in the direction of poor Billy and Georgia. Red flashes oh-so-fleetingly, a microsecond before intent becomes actuality and a nimbus of red energy cocoons the table and the two werewolves where they sit. Will it stop a bullet? Likely. Will it stop three? Possibly. But there IS a Devil right there, too. Bloody good deeds, grrrrarrr mumblemutter. Silence? Is golden.
Lucifer	What was a peaceful, quiet night suddenly turns into pandemonium. Several people get up from their seats and head for the front door, and it's very likely that unless someone beaned the gunman, he might just get away by being lost in the crowd. The demons do their best to shuffle people to safety while security measures flare and half the club goes into lockdown. The hotel and casino will now be cleared out and inacessible (save for two with perma-rooms, but that'll come later) and the bartenders will jump from behind their bars to aid in the coming mess. The cage dancers will be let out early and escorted to their dressing rooms. As for Lucifer? It's a damn good thing he came downstairs when he did. It only takes the first sound of the barking gunshot for him to let his wings loose and cover the table where the werewolves are seated. He feels the bullets bounce off his person and his wings, knowing that the shells clatter to the ground giving no damage. Six shots, then nothing more, except Panic at the Lux-o! This will be on the news by eleven. At some point, there's red. So he knows Nathaniel is fine. So he shouts in a commanding voice, "Nick?!" to carry over the screams and panicked chatter. Wanting to ensure the rockstar is safe. He'll deal with the aftermath of all this - and the shooter - once things settle down.
Thomas Raith	The gunman is already moving away, the gun reconcealed as he makes his next series of plans. Ditch the glasses, change the shirt, in seconds of getting outside he'd go from being a non descript shooter to just a non descript person in the cloud. Possibly $2 million dollars richer. He hadn't counted on the man with the wings, but you don't stay alive in this business without adapting. For now he'll just let the wave of the crowd wash him out the door... As for Billy and Georgia, the pair look shaken but unharmed both stare at Lucifer's unfurled wings for a moment in utter shock with Billy remarking simply "Nice wings," as Georgia picks one of the bullets and rolls it between her fingers. "Silver bullets? Are you kidding me?" She mumbles almost to herself looking very annoyed that someone took a shot at her and her husband on their date night.
Nick	Getting a general sense of what's going on, Nick's newfound vantage point allows for him to spot the man trying WAY too hard not to be. The flash of feathers are ignored as Nick weaves through the panicked crowd. Eyes fixate upon the man as he moves forward. Based from the expression on his face. Nick is far from a happy camper. If he has heard his name being called, he makes no show of it as he sets in pursuit of the gunman.
Sinister	There was a flash of red, yes. And then there were wings. And then, there was chaos. And still, that malignant mind is an eternal ice-cube in a raging inferno -- the crowd control effects are in progress and Sinister has risen from his seat at that alcove with the socialites. There isn't even any cursory checks to the others in the vicinity; he has no fear for the demons, none for the devil, is fairly certain that the no-mind of Nick means that he's also still kicking. So, fast as a whip, he's vaulting the raised area above the dance floor, slipping through the crowd like a barracuda. And there's the door to freedom and two million squids. That's a lot of cuttlefish and no argument. All Mister Sinister does is snap his fingers, whilst staring at the face that sports that ice-cube of a mind. Telekinesis will stop the man from crumpling to the ground, but unless he has some miraculous surgical coverage, he will never walk again. C-6 vertibrae. Cervical spine. Heart still beats, you can still hear and breathe, but move? No. This is why the X-men fear and hate him, isn't it? Probably. Hands slide into the tight pockets of his designer jeans as he stares at the man and waits for Nick to catch up.