Front Entrance, First Floor

[Building]

|Front Entrance|

[Courtney Adams]

Courtney stands in silence near the doors of P3, waiting her turn to be allowed in the club. She’s all dressed up for the occasion as usual, showing off a very stylish sparkling white bustier dress, stopping just before the knee – how long such a design will stay so flawlessly white is yet to be seen, but the woman loved it and just had to get it. It’s not like it was that pricey after all, it’s just some cheap knock-off designer gear she picked up. Setting off the shoulderless and strapless piece is a thick black belt, the buckle of which is a large silver rose; and to make perfection even more perfect, upon her feet are white Gucci heels.

(Why does looking good have to be so painful?) The Wiccan winces to herself as her eyes dance over the crowd of people she’s currently queuing with. Already her feet are killing her. The shoes, while being stylish and to die for, were insanely costly and would make her feet scream out in pain if they could. (At least I now have a job to help pay them off though – Courtney Adams, crime columnist. It has a ring to it) She smiles at her thought, pictures of Elise praising her for such excellent reporting fluttering through her head. (Like that would happen though…she’s one hard-ass)

[Eddy Valentine]

Eddy's eyes pass over the crowd, making sure everyone was on their best behaviour. Okay, at least not causing any shit. Not that he couldn't handle it, of course. He jsut would rather not have to.

His arms remain crossed over the tight black T-shirt that was was his uniform, along with the very tight fititng black jeans. Not part of the uniform. Just black on the bottom was all that Mrs. Halliwell ever asked for. He always made jokes about the little pink embroidered logo on the top left side of the shirt. It wasn't huge. But it was still pink.

The night had proven to be a big success, even before it really started. Big shiny guns or whatever they were called hadn't even shown up yet and the place was packed. And he only had to chastice one person for carrying a weapon. A dagger, which he confiscated immediately. She could reclaim it when she left.

He watches a few people leave and admits the hot looking blonde that is Courtney Adams into the club. He'd already searched her and she came out clean. He gives her one of his winning smiles. "Enjoy your night, Ma'am." He adds a wink as he holds the door open for her.

[Courtney Adams]

“Thank you” Courtney replies softly to the mortal bouncer, more than happy to get inside the club and get her groove on. Tonight is call for a celebration – to her new job and to her fantastic new shoes; however much they might make her want to cry. She hobbles into the building, stepping through the held door and descending down the stairs that lead to the dance floor. (It’s always nice to begin with a dance…maybe pick up a hottie too – who says a girl can’t make the first move?)

[Tyker Parker]

Tyker looks around the entrance of P3, there's a large crowd growing. He tries to not get swallowed by it all, he's pretty excited about this. He haven't been to many clubs and this one seems to be really cool. Maybe he'll meet some interesting people. He hopes so, it'll be pretty lonely if he doesn't know anyone here in San Francisco. He shakes his head slightly brushing his hair from his face, he moves closers to towards the door with the pretty intimidating looking bouncer.

Dress in a button down plaid red and black shirt with jeans. He is dress casual, yeah he should go shopping tomorrow. Shaking his head slightly and rubbing a hand through his hair. Moving it back a little before moving his hand just to have his hair fall back into place. He moves up to the bouncer and doesn't have to try to look harmless.

[Eddy Valentine]

Eddy gives Tyker a once-over. (What is this, a farmers theme?) Eddy is clearly disapproving of Tyker's attire. His arms remain ccrossed tightly across his chest, showing off his mure-than-capable muscles. "Can I see some I.D. please, young man?" He looks Tyker in the eyes, now, trying to avoid the horrendous outfit the kid is wearing.

[Bran Baxter]

(Just one more,) the Scot cheers as his eyes are filled with anticipation to finally get in.

The guy in front of him is dressed quite strangely for someone who is about to go clubbing. Plaid shirt and jeans, all that is missing now is a hard hat and we'd have David Hodo from the Village People. Poor lad, the bouncer seems to think this attire equally unfitting.

"Can I see some I.D. please, young man?"

And apparently, he's looking for a way to keep him out too. Bran looks down on his own clothes: An unbuttoned black satin shirt, a black muscle shirt and black denim jeans. He also wears comfortable black shoes which had appeared to work for his outfit, as does his silver jewelry. He assumes it would do. Besides, black is an all time classic.

However, something else is strange, other than the plaid-clad guy's clothes. He could have sworn to have seen that guy before. But where? He waits patiently for his turn while he searches for the guy in his memory.

Aha! He has no name for the guy but he had seen him at Mainstays Apartments. They hadn't traded any words, though. (I had been in a hurry and just smiled at him. I really need to work on my social skills.)

[Christopher Soran]

Dr. Soran – cue the mental shudder – stands in line, waiting to get into P3. He’s armed with his cell-phone, pager and his hospital ID card is tucked into his wallet. Granted he probably won’t need to use them, but he almost always takes them out with him just in case he needs them. After he’d gotten something to eat with Joss, he’d gone home and slept for a few hours, enough to leave him fully functioning now, but not so much as to completely screw up his sleep pattern. Chris crosses his arms across his chest as he waits to be called inside.

Chris wears a white, casual shirt with half-sleeves, coming down to just below his elbow, he also has a pair of dark blue jeans and a black leather belt with a gold coloured, star-shaped buckle. Chris is just looking to enjoy a stress-free night with no hospital, or patients, or goddamn annoying Chiefs of Medicine. Tonight he’s just Chris Soran, normal guy having a fun night out, not Dr. Soran, the over-worked and under-paid doctor guy.

[Natalie Aimes]

Natalie waits her turn in line with relative patience. She was no stranger to P3, and while she was hardly here every night…the waiting process was something she’d come to expect. (At least I know we’ll get in…Eddy’s usually pretty-)

"Can I see some I.D. please, young man?"

A small smile forms on her lips as the brunette suppresses the urge to shake her head. While she wasn’t exactly close to P3’s resident bouncer, she’d see the older man in action enough times to know that she didn’t want to get on his bad side. (Of course I don’t see why he’s being such a…well, maybe the outfit is a bit off, but it happens!) The thought prompts the brunette to do a quick once over of her own attire; chestnut curls half pulled back, a classy black sleeveless shirt that matched her heels and her clutch, and dark washed jeans with a pair dangling earrings to complete a simple yet sleek ensemble. (Although, since someone’s apparently playing fashion police tonight, let’s hope it’s good enough to get in the door!)

Hazel orbs drift to the clutch in her hand, and for a brief moment they flutter open with surprise.(Did I forget my keys again?) The last time Natalie had ventured to the club she’d managed to leave her apartment keys on in the lobby of her apartment building, effectively locking herself out and forcing her to spend the night at a nearby hotel. (Because that wasn’t awkwardly embarrassing or anything, especially having to show up at work in my night clothes the next day because I didn’t have time to run home and shower…) The mortified humor that runs through her brain is resolved as the witch spots a glisten of metal at the bottom of her clutch. Her relief doesn’t last long, as her fingers managed to fumble upon re closing the bag, sending it tumbling to the ground, and it’s few contents scattering forth between Bran and Christopher.

“Dammit!”

The brunette curses softly under her breath. While she’s not terribly embarrassed, she’s not thrilled by her action. Stooping down she quickly reclaims her ATM card and her cellphone before spotting her keys relatively close to the first man’s foot. Standing up taking a few steps forward, she offers the Scottish witch a small apologetic smile. “Excuse me,” The words are soft as she leans forward and snatches her keys from the ground. “Sorry, I had a little mishap with my bag…I didn’t want you to think I was some nut.” There is a mental groan at her words. (And now he probably does anyway, nicely done.) Giving him a small embarrassed nod, Natalie turns to begin to return to her place at the back of the line, giving Christopher a small smile of acknowledgment in the process. Upon her return she places her items back in her bag, only to realize the twenty dollars she’d planned to spend on drinks has gone missing as well. With a small sigh and a shake of her head, Natalie resigns herself to the fate of having to rely on her ATM card for the rest of the night, something she preferred to reserve for emergencies. (That’s what you get for being a moron Natalie!) The sing song taunt echoes through her head as she holds back another sigh and waits.

[Connaire Scriostóir]

He is used to standing in queues, has come to understand them and find in them a window of opportunity; they allow him to observe humanity, like a lab rat caught in an artificial maze. So while Clark found a place to park his car, The Destroyer kept them a place in the line outside P3. He watched the brunette spilling her purse across the sidewalk with interest, (an interesting project to be sure), before his eyes flickered on towards the young man being carded. (Individuality ... a rare prize, if only they new how simple it made it.)

He let his eyes wander on, not lingering too long on another; he didn't want them self conscious of his gaze, they were already experiencing the subtle anxieties of the queue. He glanced back towards the street, wondering if Clark had been able to find parking relatively close by. The Destroyer was ready to taste San Francisco's night life and to breath in the blooms it brought out in its people, to taste their collective night flower and look more intimately into a few where the nectar promised him dark sweetness and heady delight.

[Clark Richards]

Clark walks down the line of people waiting to enter the hot night club known as P3. He stops next to Connaire. HIs stomach is still full from their meal at the green bean. He looks to the front of teh line, a man is checking I.D's. Clark feels his back pocket to make sure he has his. Thankfully he does, and the line isn't to long.

"I think you will like this club, it has great energy."

[Connaire Scriostóir]

As Clark rejoins him, Connaire give's him a smile and eyebrows quirk as he takes in the young man's description of the club they are about to enter.

"Energy, who can't find pleasure in that?" (Directionless it just requires a little nudge and you can be its compass.) "So you've been here often then?" The Destroyer was fond of youth, he too had found the siren song upon his return that lured them from their homes into the pounding rhythm of mechanical myth in a sea of white and coloured sound. The music now was combination of battle cry and ballad, it woke the sleeping beast, it raised the ardent spirit and collapsed them together into a flare of brilliance burning; a beacon to The Destroyer.

[Gabe Sinclair]

Gabriel Sinclair wades through the queue for a moment, breathing heavily through his nose. He never like waiting. On anything. And surely Darryl had been waiting inside. His right eyebrow arches, an idea forming in his mind.

He'd been to the popular nightclub time and again, with Darryl and very rarely alone. Surely the bouncer would recognize him. If not, he had his badge. The shadowmelding gypsy man steps out from the line, and pushes forward, the words excuse me leaking out here and there. Gabe reaches the bouncer and gives him a nod. "How's it going?"

[Eddy Valentine]

Eddy watches the line grow behind Tyker as he waits for the young man to pull out some identification, proving he is old enough to be at a bar, let alone out this late. Contrary to what those in vieweing range may believe, he really had doubts as to the young man's age of majority.

His eyes catch a familiar face. Gabe Sinclair. Darryl's partner. It had taken them long enough to find a new partner for him. This one seemed to suit him. At least, Darryl invited him here enough. When he'd seen the friend of the sisters, he was sure that Gabe wouldn't be far behind. (One more for the book.) His hard stance loosens ever so slightly as he returns the nod of acquaintence. "It's going," He says, giving a glance to Tyker in case he'd been waiting for this opportunity to sneak past him. "Daryl's already here. Waiting for you, I assume?" He asks knowingly. "You'll have to give me the details later." His face brgithens with a sly grin and a wink to Gabe as he steps aside for the officer to enter the club.

He turns back to Tyker, arms crossed. He doens't say anything, but her facial expression speaks volumes. Produce the requested identification, or get your ass out of here and don't waste my time, punk.

[Zoe Morgan]

Zoe approaches the entry of the night club dressed in a black miniskirt, stockings, boots and a red blouse. Her sandy hair is done up In a French twist. She had arrived earlier that day after nearly seven hours on a plane. She had left New Orleans at five in the morning before having to deal with a two hour layover in Phoenix, then the plane almost did not take off.

She moved toward the doors, her heels clicking on the cement as she goes. (Yeah and I have a show soon too, so I cannot be up late tonight and then I have to look for a place to live, or at least stay over night....)