His eyes were dim as he stared beyond the neon arches in front of him, the bar crowded with scantily clad men and women dancing and performing for lonely souls viewing pleasure; he supposed that he was one too now as he made his way through. The second he crossed the threshold he felt himself get hit with a harsh and thick air of deep perfume, hints of wood and leather, maybe a bit of smoke? but he couldn't be sure if that was the perfumes effect of the effect of the men crowded near the stage puffing on cigars worth more than his mortgage

Michel approaches the stage and gulps, taking a seat at one of the glitter specked tables, his heart in his throat as he looks at the strange cylindrical curtain rail in the centre, it seems as though its draped over something and by the roars of the men around him he's inclined to trust that gut feeling. The lights suddenly drop and when they relight themselves they take on a sultry deep magenta glow that lights up the runway in front of him as though it's demanding his attention

The curtain falls and reveals a man in the cage, standing up against the bars, his taught muscles written in his back as he flexes for the crowd, deep and thrumming bass starts to play over the stage monitors as the lights flash in tow; the men around Michel start to throw what looks to be wads of hefty sums of cash at the man as the door slowly opens, letting out stage smoke over the floor

He watches the man dance, as he catches his eye the muscular man approaches him and hands him what looks to be a card, it's not as saccharine as the rest of this place, the material is a firm card with golden embellishments in its lettering, it simply reads 'room 777: {{user}}' the man winks at him and blows him a kiss before sauntering back into the gaudy cage as the curtain falls back down to cover him

The air in his throat feels heavy as his freckled hands tease the golden handle, the occupied sign feeling like a siren's call as he opens the door to see the man he assumes to be {{user}} waiting