Hanging at Shades' (Open)

Ysabel sat at a table in the corner of the club, the same one she'd sat at a few nights ago when she'd first come here. This would be the second time this week she would get to see Ambrose play. He didn't much like live gigs, by his own admission, but he had some friends in the business (everyone has friends in the business!). They were a band called the Moochers, and Ambrose had told her he often filled in for them if their guitarist wasn't able to play. That individual been sick all week, so Ambrose was covering.

Although still dubious about rock in general, Ysabel had definitely taken to jazz and blues. Moreso the first time she had come here. The club was named Shades', after its owner. When they'd entered a few days back, Ysabel had at first been put out by the slightly smoky air but the darkness of the club, brightened here and there by a few dim blue lights, appealed to her sensitive eyes. Tables were set fairly close together without being crowded, around a moderately sized dance floor. Against the far wall, just behind the dance floor, was a slightly raised stage. On the left as you entered was the bar, and behind that a set of doors Ysabel assumed led to a kitchen, for the club provided snack-like foods... nothing substantial really, but appetizers and things to nibble on while listening to your favorite local band.

Shades himself might have intimidated Ysabel if she hadn't had so much experience in dealing with people. Even as a man in his apparent 60's, Shades was an imposing figure. He was at least 6'5", muscular in spite of his age, and he moved with a spring and an energy that belied his tightly-curled, greying hair. He was of African-American descent but anyone would have been hard-pressed to know exactly where he came from. His voice held no discernable accent. He was never seen without his trademark sunglasses, and it was no secret among the vampire community that Shades was one of them - although no one seemed to know when he'd been turned or who had turned him. The club's name was not just a reference to its owner, but a small tribute to their race as well.

Shades, Ambrose had told her, almost never forgot a face or a name. Ysabel found that to be true. When she'd entered the club for the second time, without Ambrose who'd gone around the back to meet the Moochers there, Shades had greeted her himself and brought her to the same table she'd been at before. He treated her like a good friend and Ysabel couldn't help but imagine that if she'd been in a bad mood when she'd walked in, Shades' attitude would have dispelled it immediately.

The quiet popularity of the club was a tribute to its owner. Ysabel liked it here. She had heard Shades play last time she was here, and although she couldn't have said before that she was particularly fond of the saxophone, she was willing to rethink her position on the subject. She was hoping to hear him play again tonight, perhaps between sets.

She sat quietly, as she had done before. The waitress seemed nervous; perhaps she was new. Ysabel politely ordered a glass of white wine, doing her best to put the poor girl at ease. She probably had no clue that she was standing in the middle of a vampire-run club, but in truth there couldn't have been any safer place. Shades' rules on the subject were clear: humans on the premises were off-limits, whether working or patronizing. The club may be dimly-lit and smoky, but the discreet bouncers missed nothing, and kept a sharp eye out for any sort of trouble.

((ooc: Ambrose's views with permission.))