"A fairly popular night club for mortals, the Tequila attracts large crowds every night, particularly on the weekends. Entertainment varies from local bands to poetry readings, pending on the mood of the owner. Alcohol is constantly available. As can be expected, nightly gathering of mortals often draws immortals as well."

That was the description she'd been given when she'd first come to this city and had been introduced to the Tequila. She'd met several business partners and associates here, of course, but mostly she came here because she liked the Heartstoppers. Vodca, German rum, and a crushed cayenne pepper. Most people couldn't handle them. But Camille Johansen, President and CEO of Johansen Enteriprises, could care less what the general population thought. This was actually quite a bit better than most bars, though. For one thing, a single look could prevent a man from making the worst mistake of his short, pitiful life. Most saw a blonde and thought, 'Oh, cool. Free sex.' Bullshit.

Tonight, though, she was trying not to enjoy herself too much. There was someone on stage that had been given his fifteen minutes of fame in order to rant about the corporate world and how it was abusing its power to squash the little people. Another rebellion speech, basically. Eventually, though, the young man was practically dragged from the stage. It was a wonder he wasn't thrown. He was shoved very roughly out the door, though, to many laughs and cheers. Camille shook her head with a smile. Fools. As if they had a say in what multi-billion-dollar corporations did with their lives. She wondered who would be the next up as she took another sip - yes, a sip, for she wasn't about to commit suicide; even she wasn't bullet-proof, so to speak - of her Heartstopper.

It had been nearly three years since Marcus had last stepped foot in the Tequila. This was by no fault of the club itself --he still found it a respectable establishment, most recent spokesperson aside– but rather a comment on how little informal socializing he’d been doing while occupying himself with personal pursuits and assorted surges in coven business.

Since managing to put his private life back in order late in the previous year, Mr Felsen had begun actively appearing in the community once again, outside of his obligations at the university. At present, he was seated at the bar, charmingly ignoring the pleading stare from the Tequila’s manager, who stood next to the door that lead behind the stage.

Marcus had scarcely made his presence known at the club’s entrance before the slowly balding man had rushed over to greet him, and asked if he’d be willing to perform that evening. The Etruscan had respectfully declined, seeing as he did not have a single instrument about his person, and yet the man persisted to the point of forcing the vampire to sidestep a moral rule and temporarily remove all memory of his presence in the club from the manager’s mind so that he might find some peace.

Roughly half an hour had passed since then, and Marcus was indeed at ease, in spite of the earnest club owner, whose lapse in memory had only lasted ten minutes. Perched on a stool with one arm along the bar and the other supporting a thin-stemmed glass of sherry, the Amman leader seemed to be enjoying himself, and even more refreshing was the fact that he had yet to be approached by any immortal, though he sensed a handful about.

Clad in dark jeans that were new enough to still truly be considered black, and a wine red dress shirt with the top three buttons undone, he was doing a fine job of blending in. Dignified yet casual seemed to be the style he was attempting, with the shirt tucked into the jeans and a fine black leather belt fit snugly through the pant loops, set off by a simple bronze buckle; even his hair was a bit more refined than usual, pulled back to the base of his neck and secured there with a black elastic.

Yes, all appeared in order with this seemingly young man, until one looked a bit lower, and realized that his black calfskin loafers were resting on the floor beneath his stool, with two rather pale bare feet settled on the rung above them.

Ah, well. One can’t lose all of one’s self to fashion.

Camille, too, wasn't much one for fashion. Oh, she kept herself viewable to the public, of course. Her suits were dry-cleaned and her hair, though obviously that of the teen she appeared to be, was kept neat. Most took Camille for a simple teenage girl at first glance, but a few minutes' conversation could reveal so much about her that few remembered her apparent physical age after just the first few words. Just five minutes discussing the present political climate of Jarven Inustries' rivalry with Johansen Enterprises and one would begin to realize that she most certainly was not just some simple teenage girl; she knew far too much about business and politics for that. Far too much.

However, Camille was also something far more than merely human: she was a vampire, and a fairly powerful one at that. True, she wasn't really all that old. In fact, she was a newborn compared to most of the younger vampires. But her Sire had been a powerful vampire, and she'd inherited some very powerful abilities from him - like her telekinesis and telepathy, for example. Right now, she knew there were roughly a dozen vampires in the building and over forty mortals as well. One of them, however, seemed to be as well-dressed as Camille herself - save for the shoes that rested below his feet. Well, even those in the business world had to relax sometimes. And this man was obviously in business of some kind, from the way he dressed - or perhaps he just liked dressing up. Or...perhaps he was someone of importance in the vampire world.

Of course...now she recognized him. Marcus. The leader of the Amman. She'd never actually met the man that she now examined out of the corner of her eye, but she'd seen him around a few times and people of power tended to talk. Marcus was definitely a major player, if only in the covens. He was sitting two tables away from her now, but that was far less than nothing to a vampire. Hell, a new fledgling could probably hear Camille's toes shifting slightly in her shoes from that distance.

She wondered briefly how involved he was in the narcotics and weapons business. Those were, after all, the two biggest businesses she had running right now - under the tarp, of course. She wasn't stupid. Then again, Marcus probably wasn't that kind of businessman. But you could never tell about a person fully until you slept with them - not that she had any intention of doing that, of course. She did look over at him, though, curious. He was actually pretty handsome for such an old vampire. But of course, age didn't matter to an immortal.

Marcus, who had been casually observing the setup procedures of what looked to be a prop comic, turned to meet the gaze of a young vampire as he felt the weight of her curious scrutiny. He tipped his head toward her lightly in a nod that was part acknowledgment and part greeting, grey-green eyes neutral as he considered her. The Amman leader wasn’t in the practice of prying into minds of yet un-introduced vampires unless an emergency situation called for it, and so he did not make the effort to invade her thoughts.

Similarly, he wasn’t going to go out of his way to disturb what tranquility he’d gleaned (although the prop comic was likely to see to the utter disruption of his serenity irregardless of his wishes), and so he remained seated, awaiting her approach if she saw fit to make one.

Marcus had acknowledged her? Now that was interesting. It was true that Camille was a wealthy, powerful, and influential businesswoman and a secret manipulator of mortal politics within the local arena, but Marcus was the leader of the Amman. Camille affected the lives of hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, but they were all mortals. Marcus could, if he chose to, affect the lives of at least that many vampires and, through them, ten - perhaps a hundred - times that many mortals. He was a god amongst ants, and he had acknowledged - her? Now that was impressive.

Congratulations, Marcus, she thought to herself with a cocked eyebrow as she raised her glass to him, offering a small smile of greeting. You've just earned my respect.

It was only a moment before she came to join him.

"Mind if I sit down?"

Ordinarily, she wouldn't have cared. But this was Marcus. This was Marcus. Essentially the leader of the vampire world. She wasn't about to piss him off.