To Flow From

Alex was, actually, hide as a kite.

He sat down on a couch with Daniel and offered over the joint silently.

What Anael liked best about Emanare, he mused as he leaned back against the wall, half tempted to let his wings out for their comforting presence, was the wild mix of creatures. People (or non-people) that would never have come together outside of the club, and it created many unexpected connections. Love took many shapes, and did not stop at anything. It made him feel warmer to hang out in the club.

He was sitting on the second level and watching the other patrons, an untouched glass of wine on the table. It wasn't as creepy as it might sound, honest.

Hadrian, occasionally, drank tea. A side effect of living in Britain for too long- he'd developed a taste for it. So Sunday evening found him at Emanare with a cup of tea, settled across from a chess board, playing himself.

He was sitting at the middle level of En Mare. He eyed another person at the bar with a faintly speculative air. "What are you?" he asked, candidly.

Sundays weren't any different at the Emanare than any other day. It was crowded with a multitude of beings, corners and nooks isolated for peace. Any beverage was served at the bar on each level by one of the Morgan women.

It was simple, it was relaxing, it was neutral. That was the charm.