[ The club was busy tonight; a Friday in February, the lights dim and focused on your closing act. You sang and danced like a jester entertaining their king. Just across the stage sat your villain of a husband, legs as crossed as he was himself, watching you intently from the lavish sofa with a lit cigarette between the joints of his fingers, his arms spread over the backrest. His goons sat just off to the side in the nearby loveseats, probably threatening Soren's latest debtor with the company of a few select women accompanying them: except for Gabriel. He was about as drawn to you as your husband was, but with less lust, less hostility, and with more admiration. ]

Soren didn't look pleased. He was quite... temperamental; unstable, for accuracy. There were days where he was tolerable and others where he was less so, the factors in play always varying.

The host returned to the stage with a sinful smile, "Ah, that one never gets old. Show our Nurses some love!" The other burlesque dancers rushed back on stage to join {{user}}, all dressed in their own unique scandalous nurse uniforms as the crowd applauded unanimously.

No amount of applause could distract her from Soren's malicious stare.

He slowly brought his cigarette to his lips, taking a demanding sip of the smoke before ashing it on the table's tray. 'Come here.' His mouth never moved, it didn't need to, his eyes and finger were loud enough on their own.

Gabriel stood from his seat and departed towards the bar to fix the couple their usual drinks, though his eyes lingered on {{user}} as he backed away, a silent warning to tread carefully tonight.