Emille slowly walked towards the bar, called the Tequila, walking next to her brother. It had been a while since broke 'physical contact' with him, but that was okay, she could handle it. As long as she knew exactly where he was. The sleep that she got from the day before was wonderful to her, and she could only thank Marcus for that. She had awoken in the same exact postion she had fell asleep in. She had not moved at all.

"Brother... after we are finished here... do you think that we can feed? I am afraid that I haven't in such a long while... I need to soon."

She neglected to speak to him through her mind, she felt like using her voice.

"Of course, Elle. I am in need of nourishment as well," Marcus sighed, holding the door open for his sister as they arrived upon the threshold of the club. "We might find a pair here, and take them elseware," he added, smoothing out the russet silk of the shirt he wore for their 'night out' with the hand not keeping the sturdy barrier open.

Emille's clothing had dried completely overnight, to her amazement. She would soon have to buy some new attire, for she did not want to wear the same thing each night... that would not suit her, or her personality. She smiled at Marcus, then walked through the door.

"Where would you like to sit? I do not care...."

She crossed her arms, looking around the room wearily. She would have to get used to the change in her surroundings quickly. She knew nothing about this city, or anything in it. But oddly enough, it was where she wanted to be.

Marcus held the door open a beat longer as a young pair of 'hip' mortals made their way into the club after Emille before stepping to his sister's side and joining her in her survey of the room. He folded his arms as well as he glanced from table to table speculatively, allowing his eyes to linger on each only long enough to evaluate the quality of person seated there. Many were shallow, interested only in following the crowd and appearing suave and sophisticated in the public eye. He was not interested in these sheep of cultural society.

"Ah, there, how do they suit?" he murmured, leaning close to Emille's ear and gesturing vaguely with his index finger to a quiet pair settled at one of the shabbier tables farther from the stage. They were dressed in style to match the rest of the patrons, yet the hollows under their eyes and the threadbare quality of their smiles to passers-by spoke of hard times fallen on a formerly golden life; fallen from their world of grace. One female, one male, both likely in their later twenties to early thirties, perhaps related by blood, perhaps by a government certificate.