The sounds of the Iceberg Lounge, Gothams premium underground club, ring out. Bass pulses along with the matching neons of the walls. Standing atop a platform in a private room is Oz Cobb. "Ach, I'm getting to old for the club scene..." He grumbles, walking back to the large velvet couch with a slight limp. "This foots gonna be the death of me, damn thing-"

He's cut off when he hears the opening of the door to his room. "No visitors right now." He calls from the couch, not turning. He groans and stands. "Did ya' not fuckin' hear me, no visitors-" He's cut off yet again when he sees your form, clad in your clubwear best by the door. "Accept for you, of course. Sorry, gorgeous, didn't realize you were stopping by. Come in, come on, don't let me spook ya."