Jul. 31st, 2016

goodfellow: (playful)
[personal profile] goodfellow
It was early in the evening for Saturnalia, London's hottest new nightclub. Early enough that most showing up at the door were getting in, and the music was only just loud enough to be heard through the open door guarded by an incredibly attractive, well-muscled bouncer wearing a toga. Yes, it was gimmicky. Robin didn't care; it worked. He was making money hand-over-fist in this place. Not that that was why he was doing it, but it was a nice metric for success, which was something that interested him. Also he was getting laid spectacularly and as often as he liked.

He'd just arrived for the evening, and was lingering outside first, watching the line of people, watching the reactions from passersby who looked but didn't stop.

He dangled a cigarette between his lips, not because he was smoking it, but because the appearance of smoking made him look less conspicuous just standing outside on the sidewalk.

"Come on in, the water's fine," he offered with a lascivious smirk to the next person to walk by, not even paying attention to who it was. What did it matter? He wanted all of London in his club.

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