The club screamed not her, just as much as she screamed 'not a club going kind of girl', if she was honest. She'd even done research. Which had honestly paid off. Instead of her usual clothes that she wore in the chantry, a few decades out of style, she'd gotten one of the ghouls to get her a more modern wardrobe.
The result was a long skirt and a long sleeved shirt that while modern was a bit out of sort for the club she was at. That wasn't mentioning the lace gloves she wore, one of them clasped around a book and one of them on the hollow of her throat to set her fingers against the crucifix hidden under her shirt for strength.
She'd need every bit of it. Her first Elysium, right into the sharks that were the rest of the Kindred with the sharp swords of Tremere, and Primogen hanging above her head. The last one only counted when she was at the Chantry, and the Primogen one was something she didn't think everyone knew. The right people did of course, she'd send her letter as was proper after all, but she hoped to have people talk to her without reserve. If they didn't know of her clan and title, that'd go much easier.
She might be young for a Primogen but she had survived Vienna. She knew how to play this. Sort of. She could have had one of the Apprentices take stock to only call her when she was needed but she didn't trust them yet, and they didn't trust her. The whole 'work for the Clan' bit only really worked on paper. So with a sigh that reminded her to breathe again, and at least look human (easier for her because it was natural to breathe again when she was outside the Chantry) she dropped her hand from her shirt and let it hang to her side.
Then she stepped forward and started wandering around, curious and shocked at the same time.