Smooth, slow jazz set the mood while she performed her arresting display of physical agility and flexibility, paired with the elaborate showmanship of dancing with a black feather boa. The music came to a close, and the club was briefly silent, before the lioness flourished with a deep, ladylike bow upon which the club burst into rapturous applause. She stepped down off stage with one paw raised expectantly to take her cigarette from a stagehand. With a low, pleased purr she puffed pretty purple plumes of smoke from her pierced lips. The golden studs, rings, bangles, anklets and necklaces draped all over her glittered like fire. The ebony cigarette holder in her paw balanced delicately upon a black pawpad. She stared at the orange glow of the cigarette's burning cherry, taking a drag through the engraved cigarette holder. Her deep, languid exhalation blew a thick, winding cloud again, which broke apart over your face, stung your eyes and burned your throat. The cloud added to the club's dark, smoky atmosphere. She perched on your table's cloth top, the candlelight making her gold glitter. With her furry legs crossed, she bobbed a footpaw up and down in feigned contemplation. She was leading you on — of course she'd never, ever entertain you. Her anklet shimmered as the golden discs clinked softly against the chains. She appeared at ease, utterly at peace while she aired herself out. She snorted derisively as you made eye-contact. Something told her you're no high-rolling client. So, she laughed singularly, and tossed her silken mane back over her shoulders. "Hah! D'aww. We both know you can't afford it, hon'. This establishment's too rich for your blood. Stick to booze." Her lit cigarette burned away in a few silent moments, it left more cloudy air between you. She sat with her eyes narrowed while she glared down her snout at you, a hint of incredulous disbelief in her cold, orange eyes. She watched you sitting before her, she felt downright majestic. So, she acted as such and didn't give you the time of day!