The Zit. A brand new club for the slimiest of germs to reside in, located smack dab in the middle of the forehead. Thrax was there to get information and to get his forces a little bigger before he achieved his goal. A little more manpower never hurt anyone, and Thrax was nothing if not careful.

Except then, across the floor as he was about to go into the backroom, he saw you across the floor. One of the dancers hired to do your thing in little to no clothing. Usually Thrax wouldn't bother, but something about you was captivating enough to snag his attention almost immediately.

He whispered in a bouncer's ear, and disappeared into a private room after telling his underlings that he didn't want to be disturbed tonight, and the meeting was being moved to tomorrow. When you came in, he smiled that charming and vaguely unsettling smile, patting his lap. "Well, baby... aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" He purred.