Danior was in the club, sat forward on one of the comfortable chairs, head in his hands. A tumbler of whiskey on the low table in front of him, and smoking ban be damned, he had a cigarette hanging from between his fingers. Not like anyone was likely to enforce it in Emanare anyway.
He had a killer headache. Bone-chilling weather suited him, disney-fied images of angels everywhere amused him, but Christmas crowds.. just.. ugh. Too much temptation, too much panic and high-pitched emotion, too much stinking humanity. No challenge in an all-you-could-eat buffet.
"Bah, hum-fucking-bug," he muttered into his hands as someone passed by.
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